


When the Light Fades

by Akaiba, DashingApostate, emotionalmorphine, HeroMaggie, StormDragon



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emesis, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jealousy, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Round Robin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 41,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiba/pseuds/Akaiba, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate/pseuds/DashingApostate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine/pseuds/emotionalmorphine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDragon/pseuds/StormDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Fenders Round Robin fic started on <a href="http://fendersassoc.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.</p><p>After a battle goes wrong and Fenris is injured, Anders learns that Fenris' lyrium markings are beginning to dissolve and disappear, leaving him in pain and possibly facing death. Anders vows to help Fenris, no matter what it takes, but as Fenris grows worse Anders begins to realize that his feelings for the elf might be more than simple friendship or duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [DashingApostate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate).

Fenris woke in a groggy daze, needles of icy agony wracking their way throughout his body. He shifted, unsure of his whereabouts. His senses felt dull, and he was acutely aware of a painfully scratchy dryness in his throat that was making it difficult to swallow.

He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting himself to the sharp lances of pain that seemed intent on intensifying the throbbing in his temples and the back of his neck. With his vision blurring lines and shapes at the edges, he braced himself as he stood.

Frigid water cascaded down his form in freezing rivulets, his nearly numb limbs making it a strenuous task to reach the edge of the tub he had evidently passed out in the night before. Or maybe the morning before.

With a shuddering groan, he hauled himself up and out of the ornate stone wash area, kicking over two empty wine bottles that had been perched at the edge.

They smashed, one after the other, onto the floor. The sound reverberating off the walls and filling the room with an echoing clatter, sending fresh stabs of pain through him with each resulting rebound, which was accompanied by a rising bile in his raw throat and a roll to his stomach.

He made his way slowly out of the washroom, drudging through the trail of still more wine bottles and a discarding of clothing that led like a path from the tub.

Fenris paused, looking at the crumpled heap of one of his sharp gauntlets lying atop his black leather tunic. He didn’t bother reaching down in any attempt to clothe his chilled form. He could see the bloody mess he had made of his armor, left to dry overnight and into the afternoon after.

His sister’s blood.

Fenris turned away, scowling fiercely past the fresh wave of nausea, as if anger and hatred were alone powerful enough to abate his hangover.

He fiercely ignored the fleeting thought that perhaps it was not his hangover that held the blame for the nausea ripping through him. The pain in his own chest that even wine had been unsuccessful in tapering for long.

His memory of the night before in the Hanged Man crashed over him unbidden, and he snatched an upturned bottle that still somehow housed liquid and continued on his way.

Varania had sold him out to Danarius – literally  _sold_ him – in hopes of becoming a  _Magister_. She had deserved to die.

The pain in his chest twisted, and his answering growl was a raspy little mock of its usual rumble.

_Mages._

Wave such power before any of them and they would show what they truly held inside, the truth he would not forget: none of them were beyond the reach of corruption.

Fenris took a deep swig of the wine, which tasted stale after having sat open on the dusty ground for hours surrounded by a small colony of freshly sprouted mushrooms.

His feet somehow found stairs, leading him down into the mansion’s cellar as he sought an escape from the glaring sunlight that radiated its way down in cutting beams through the holes in the crumbling roof.

* * *

 

Anders was already up when the first tendrils of sunrise made their way through the drafty gaps of the curtain draped between his sleeping quarters and the outer area of the clinic.

He had awoken to the harsh pounding of his heart and with a scream dying on his lips as he fought off the twisted incoherent images of Darkspawn that had scratched and clawed into his mind while he slept. Lying with his eyes cast upward, he steadied his breathing.

It had been an incredibly late night, he remembered. He had returned home from a trip deep into the lower parts of Darktown tending to an elderly elven man too frail to make the journey to his open doors, only to find a human woman having a bad birthing in one of his cots.

It had kept him up and quite busy well into the early morning. He was still so exhausted…

Yet the mother and her newly born son would need further checking on, and there was still more to be done (when was there ever not?), Hawke had requested a new batch of healing potions for his next venture, and Anders had the newest revision to his petition for the grand cleric to work through…

And Justice was right there at the front of his mind to remind him he was not likely to get much in the way of sleep now anyway.

“Right…” he mumbled aloud as he moved to get up and get dressed. Whether he was speaking to himself or Justice as he stood alone in the room, he was not even sure anymore.

Anders found his clinic more crowded than he was used to as he stepped out into the morning. Patients did not often need to stay overnight, but the birthing had been rife with enough complications that he had been insistent she remain into the next day.

What he had not been counting on, was half the girl’s family to have shown up and stayed as well.

He barely managed to side step two children that raced passed his feet as he made his way through the small crowd of no less than ten people that stood around the lone occupied cot. Everyone was chatting and laughing with a warm hopefulness, one that was so unfamiliar to hear and witness in a clinic that served Kirkwall’s most desperate and unfortunate.

Anders almost felt like it were their home he had intruded upon, rather than the other way around.

But, despite feeling mildy rankled by this slight invasion of his space, he did not find the family’s gaiety unwelcome. It was certainly preferred over the rank of fear, vomit, and blood he often found himself thrust upon with little notice.

Upon seeing him enter, he was amused to find himself pulled into more than one forceful hug, too-tight hand shakes, and in one blessed insistence half a loaf of freshly baked bread that the woman’s mother demanded he eat by way of breakfast before starting on any work.

The reprieve was short-lived however, as Justice served as a swift reminder as to the more urgent needs that required their attention.

Back to business as soon as he was able, Anders went to the task of checking on the woman and her child; knowing that offering her the assurance she needed that they were both healthy and ready for their lives together would have the new mother eager to return home to start it – taking the many relatives with her.

With an easy draw to the Fade, magic lit his fingertips as energy buzzed through his veins and out into the net he cast over their forms. His eyes slid closed, and he found himself relaxing into that familiar peace that always settled over him with the pull of spirit healing.

“Looks like you two are going to be just fine,” he murmured gently to the woman, his eyes opening to find her sagging with relief at his words, arms clutching her son more tightly to her chest.

Anders accepted her thanks, and was more than a little pleased when the woman’s mother presented him with a basket full of even more food; noting thankfully that the cheese, dried meat, and fresh fruit would keep well enough to pass on to those that came to him near starved.

“Whoa there, Blondie. You throwing a party without inviting your favorite dwarf?”

The magnetic voice of Varric Tethras pulled his attention from the family as they prepared for their loved-one’s departure, and to the open doors of his clinic, where said self-proclaimed ‘favored dwarf’ stood wearing an amused smirk.

Anders returned it with a tired smile of his own. “Oh, you know me. So busy with endless parties and social gatherings, the invitations must simply get lost in delivery.”

Garrett Hawke barked a laugh as he made his way from Varric’s side, reaching up to slide his arm over the feathers of Anders’ pauldrons in a quick, one-armed hug.

“Maker’s balls, but you look exhausted! You didn’t happen to get any sleep this week, between all these ‘parties’ of yours?” Hawke asked as he released him, eyes holding an open concern.

“I take it you came here for a more pressing matter than my partying habits, Hawke?” Anders responded, looking past him to nod at the departing family.

He caught Hawke and Varric exchanging a quick glance, and Anders went to collect his staff with a readiness that he had stopped trying to analyze years before when this man would show up and demand his time.

He knew that he would give him that time, as well as his magic; no matter the circumstance.

“It’s about Fenris.”

Anders paused his hand short of his staff, and whirled around with a look of incredulity.

Alright, make that  _almost_ no matter the circumstance.

“About Fenris,” he replied flatly. He was really far too tired to deal with  _Fenris…_

“Last night,” Hawke began, “at the Hanged Man, we went with him to meet his sister.”

Anders blinked. That wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting. He could recall bits of the plan though, and the letter that Fenris had sent to the sister that the blood mage Hadriana had mentioned before he had torn her heart from her chest.

It had come up a few times over drinks and cards. Fenris would always seem equal parts agitated and nervous. It was strange to see on the other man, who he had rarely seen with more than a fierce glare and a snarl on his face in all the years he had known him.

A fierce glare and snarl that were far too often directed at him, and at other mages. 

“So?” he asked, a touch rankled, waving his hand. “What’s that got to do with me? Is she ill? Injured?”

“Ah, well…actually – she’s dead.”

“She’s – oh _…_  Well, that’s…sudden.” Anders frowned, favoring his confusion over the surprisingly strong stab of sympathy he felt for the elf. “But how –“

“Fenris killed her.”

“He –  _what?”_

Varric let out a sigh, rubbing at the back of his head. “Broody didn’t take too well to the fact that she had brought that charming fellow  _Danarius_  along with her. To take Fenris back to Tevinter.” He gave Anders a pointed look. “You know? As a _slave?”_

Anders’ stared, a bit stunned. There had been talk of concerns regarding the Magister using his sister as a trap for Fenris, but for her to have…

“Still, to  _kill_ his own  _sister?_ ” Anders said with a shake of his head. “Man’s completely unstable…”

Hawke looked uneasy. “After we finished with Danarius, Fenris was just in a bad way, you know? He took it all rather poorly, as you can imagine…”

Anders snorted. Homicidal rage coming from Fenris was hardly surprising – but 'taking it poorly’ was putting it mildly, even for him.

“I still fail to see what the broody sod killing his sister has to do with me?” Anders pressed.

“He was injured, last night,” Hawke said. “We were going to get you right away but he –” He trailed off, and Anders frowned at the look of apprehension that settled over his friend’s face.

“Broody wasn’t too keen on mages last night,” Varric finished for him.

_Right. Of course._

“When is he ever?” Anders snapped, moving back around to grab his staff after all, pushing down a familiar feeling of irritation that he was often met with when thinking of the hateful warrior. As if every bloody mage in all of Thedas should be punished for the crimes of a man that was now dead.

That Fenris would hold on to that all encompassing hatred, while expected, was no less infuriating.

Anders didn’t miss the pleased smile that spread over Hawke’s face as he gathered materials for treating injury.

Every circumstance indeed, then.

* * *

 

Varric went about filling him in with a full account of the night before during their trip back up to Hightown (made thankfully shorter by way of the Amell estate cellar just outside the clinic doors). His rich voice never failing to rise or fall dramatically at the right moments, making it all seem like some sort of exciting but tragic tale of some other group of heroes – rather than the very real lives of those involved.

The dwarven storyteller had not failed to cover just how shaken the confrontation with the Magister had left Fenris, and Anders could see the look of regret that passed over Hawke’s face as he seemed to be reliving his conversation with the elf through Varric’s telling.

“Don’t look so troubled,” Anders insisted. “You’ve been a good friend to him. To all of us – none of this is your fault.”

Hawke shook his head, dark brows twitching into a slight furrow. “I just…wish I had stopped him.”

“You think he would have wanted that?” Anders asked, knowing full well that the elf certainly wouldn’t have appreciated it, even if it were what he wanted.

Fenris was nearly impossible to reason with, honestly.

When they arrived at the mansion’s door, Hawke gave a slight nervous look around before lifting one of his hands in a fist to knock.

A minute passed by in silence.

“My guess is he isn’t in the mood to chat?” Anders muttered dryly.

Varric chuckled, and Hawke tried to twist the door knob, finding it locked.

“I don’t care what he is in the mood for, he needs to be healed before he bleeds out and joins the piles of dead bodies he has laying around,” Hawke groused, banging his fist over the wood with more insistence.  
  
“Fenris!” he called in a raised voice. “Open the damn door! I’ll knock it down if I need to!”

“You know, I could just…” Varric said, indicating the door’s handle.

Hawke shook his head, “Of course you can, but _Fenris_ doesn’t know that you’re here, and I’d rather he open it hims–"

His words were cut short by the distinct slide of metal upon metal, the door knob drawing their attention down as it was twisted from the other side.

“ _What_ – Hawke?” Fenris’ usually rich voice demanded in a harsh rasp as the door swung open.

As always when seeing the elf, the first thing that Anders registered was the shock of lyirum that radiated from him like a thrumming song of power, assaulting his senses and bringing Justice to sharp alert.

Next, he immediately began cataloging the damage to Fenris’ body, the wounds left by blood magic, demons, and blades; which had Anders resisting the intense inclination to draw magic to his hands and –

Anders’ searching eyes paused on Fenris' body, and then widened in sudden realization.

“Fenris,” Hawke practically squawked next to him, cheeks darkening to match the swipe of red over his nose.

Fenris’ very  _naked_ body, that is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [Elsian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elsian).

Anders dealt with his shock swiftly, stepping into the mansion and attempting to guide Fenris to sit with as little bodily touch as possible.

He was a healer, and whilst Fenris’ body was a nice specimen (an incredibly nice specimen) it was not the first naked body he had seen and it would not be the last.

On closer inspection, the wounds were not as bad as Anders had first feared, though peculiarly, looked as though they might have been. Almost as though they had been healing for a matter of days rather than hours. There was still fear of infection however, and he looked at Fenris, who was watching him with a scowl on his face and was apparently not that worse for wear considering, though obviously nursing a pretty severe hangover.

Behind them, Hawke was finally done spluttering.

Honestly, he was a grown man.

Anders considered Fenris in front of him. He didn’t seem in danger of dropping to the ground in the next two minutes, but some of the cuts were deeper than others, and he’d like to heal them if Fenris would allow it, for fear of infection.

He frowned. The elf could be awfully picky about being healed. Apparently it was fine mid-battle, but beyond that he preferred to deal with his injuries himself. He was clearly already irate about the invasion of his home, and Anders had no desire to argue with him. He had a clinic full of the sick and needy to get back too, and he was exhausted enough already without exerting extra energy on the grumpy frustrating elf.

“If you do not want infection to set in, and to be rid of us from your home as quickly as possible,” Anders said quietly, “It would be fastest to let me heal you now, and we shall be gone.”

Fenris considered the mage on his knees before him, before placing his bottle of stale wine down beside him and giving a tertiary nod.

“Very well.”

“Come on, Fenris,” Hawke began, “you can’t just…wait, what?” The other mage stared in shock, along with Varric at Fenris’ easy agreement.

Even Anders wasn’t certain he’d heard him correctly, but he wasn’t going to question it, calling his healing spell forth, feeling the pull on his waning mana already. Idly he reached for his pouch, fingers searching for the lyrium potions he knew were not there, but it was worth checking anyway.

He concentrated as he dealt with the cuts and lacerations on fenris’ body, healing the two larger, deeper cuts that had not healed as swiftly as the others. Now that he was working on healing the elf, he could feel the pull of the lyrium under Fenris’ skin, unlike a potion or vein, somehow pulling Fenris’ skin together and working on healing him even as Anders worked. He was literally healing before Anders eyes. It was mesmerising, and Anders had no idea how it worked.

He’d have asked Fenris, but he doubted he’d tell him, even if there was a chance the elf knew how his body did this. It was undoubtedly related to the lyrium laid into his skin, but Anders wasn’t certain if it was intended.

From the things Fenris had said of Danarius, he wasn’t sure if anything was intended of this experiment or if it just happened that Fenris managed to survive for another round of testing.

It would certainly explain why the Tevinter Mage was so desperate for the return of his slave.

Lost in his musing, Anders hardly realised he was nearly done healing until Varric coughed, snapping him out of his daze. Fenris’ larger wounds were very nearly closed, and the smaller cuts all but gone, though whether that was due to Anders magic or Fenris’ own innate healing abilities was anyone’s guess.

Justice lurked at the back of Anders thoughts, pressing on him the urgency of returning to the clinic.

 _“One more moment,”_ Anders thought, channeling a little more magic to pull the last of the deep laceration on Fenris’ leg shut, and let out a brief snort of laughter as soon as he felt it.

“Of course. Typical,” he muttered to himself. The cut closed in front of him, Fenris’ healing finally complete and his vision darkened as he fell to the side, completely exhausted of mana and energy.

* * *

 

Fenris could see it in the mage's eyes as they looked at him. His magic dimmed, his eyes rolling back instantly after his muttered words, and Fenris' arms shot out on instinct, catching the mage’s shoulders, moving him back upright and then freezing, not really sure what to do, and suddenly far more aware of his nakedness as he touched the man before him.

“Hawke,” he said, low. The mage stepped forward, taking hold of Anders and guiding him back until he lay upon the floor, both him and Varric suddenly looking rather guilty.

“I suppose you brought him here right after dealing a clinic full of the sick and dying,” Fenris said, standing. “What a remarkably stupid decision. I am more than capable of dealing with my own wounds.”

“After,” Varric murmured. “Possibly during.”

“He will not be happy when he awakens.” Fenris moved to the door. “You should take him back there, he is no longer of use, and I wish to be alone.”

“We were worried, Fenris,” Hawke replied, quietly. He brushed Anders' hair away from his face as he spoke, eyes on the mage’s pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes that he’d never noticed before. He looked to Fenris with his back to them, still covered in his sister’s blood, and closed his eyes as he tried not to think about Varric and his long-dead sibling. Isabela and the Qunari. Merrill and her blasted mirror.

How had it all gone so wrong?

“We can’t take him out of here like this, Broody. Hightown's hard enough to navigate with him conscious,” Varric spoke up, stepping forward and placing his hand on Hawke’s shoulder. “You’ve got plenty of beds here. Let him rest and kick him out when he’s up. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to be out of your hair.”

Fenris grunted, hand on the door.

“Very well. Hawke, take him to one of the rooms. I am going to bathe.” With that, the elf was gone, leaving Varric with Hawke and the unconscious Anders.     

“That was…easy,” Hawke said warily. He stood, taking Anders into his arms.

He felt light. Too light.

Hawke grimaced and held him closer as he and Varric climbed the stairs.

“He’s not in a good place right now, Hawke. I’m not sure he cares much what we do.” Varric hesitated. “…losing a sibling. Even if they’re not close now, there was still something, a memory there. It’s hard. Harder when you’re the one taking them from the world. He’ll get there, but he needs time.”

They stepped into a dark room. It was dusty, with a chill, but there were no corpses and fewer mushrooms than a few of the others that they had looked in on.The bed certainly looked more comfortable than the cot Anders usually slept on at any rate.

“And space?” Hawke asked, placing Anders down on the mattress. The mage didn’t shift at all, completely out-cold.

“He might want space,” Varric replied as they stepped out of the room, closing the door on Anders. “But what people want and what they need aren’t always the same thing.”

Varric patted Hawkes elbow from his side, smiling sadly.

“We’ll keep an eye on him, Hawke. On all of them.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing anyway.” Hawke sighed, walking back down the stairs. He looked round hopefully, but Fenris had yet to reappear and so he made for the door, not wishing to take up more of the elf’s space, not whilst he was in such a precarious state.

“Hey.” Varric punched his arm this time, albeit gently. “We’re all here now, and I don’t think any of us could claim that we still would be without you. Stop beating yourself up. There’s still plenty of people left in Kirkwall that want to do that for you.”

Varric chuckled, opening the heavy front door and stepping outside into the fading evening light.

“Speaking of which, I have some business at the Hanged Man. Care to be my muscle?”

Hawke smiled.

“There’s an offer I simply can’t refuse.”

* * *

 

The roof above him was tall, with rafter beams that crossed at intervals, rich dark wood that gave way to a gap that revealed stars, and for one brief, terrifying moment, Anders thought he was back in solitary, that deep dark prison that had one door in, and a stupidly high roof with a grate in the top. Supposedly it was only opened at night for ventilation.

Anders knew better.

They simply enjoyed tormenting the mages with the stars they could only ever see through bars and windows and skylights.

Then he came back to himself as he realised the gap in the roof was far too close, the edges of the hole jagged, not purpose built, and the floor beneath his back far too soft to be the cold hard stone of the solitary cell.

Anders rolled, pressing his face into the bed beneath him. It was musty, and ever so slightly damp, but it was soft and comfortable and so very not his rough little cot back in the clinic.

Then he groaned.

The Clinic.  

Justices’ grumbling was an ever present hum in the back of his mind, becoming more obvious the more awake he became.

“It’s not like I planned on passing out,” he mumbled into the quiet of the room, before sighing and sitting up, placing his legs over the side of the bed and taking one deep breath and standing from its comfortable clutches.

He could hardly blame Fenris for keeping up the Haunted Mansion ruse when it was this nice to be in even in its dilapidated state.  It must have been beautiful when kept clean and tidy.

Such a shame such beauty housed such evil

Apparently no longer. Hawke had told him Danarius was dead, and Fenris was finally truly free.

“What a wonderful feeling that must be.” Anders sighed to himself as he stepped out of the doorway. Idly, he wondered what Fenris must think of his extended presence in his home, particularly without Hawke with him now. Though he wasn’t dead yet. That was always a good sign.

The healer in him wanted to find the elf, check on the wounds that he had healed and then promptly passed out on, ensure that he had done a complete job. _"Especially in this mansion,"_   he thought as he stepped on a mushroom on the carpet by the stairs.  _"Infection in here would be a death sentence."_

However, he was not certain his appearance would be welcome. Fenris had been in no mood to see any of them earlier, not Hawke and least of all Anders, who was hardly his favourite person on a good day. It would be better to just leave, he was almost entirely certain he had done a thorough job.

All his worrying turned out to be for naught when he approached the door to find the fireplace in the hall lit, Fenris sat in the large armchair and nursing what Anders was pleased to see was a glass of wine rather than a bottle. He was also dressed, though without his armour, and his greatsword rested against the wall, well within easy reach for the fast elf warrior.

It amused Anders that the lithe elf could take up so much space in the large chair, legs spread wide and his already menacing aura blossoming from him like a cloud.

“You are finally awake. I thought you might have died in your sleep,” Fenris said into the quiet of the room, cutting over the crackling of the fire.

“I am afraid you are not so lucky yet,” Anders replied, bristling immediately, then eyes widening in shock when Fenris chuckled.

“I should be most disappointed if you were to pass to something as dull as sleep, Mage.” Fenris sipped his wine. “I expect better of you.”

“I think that was almost a compliment.” Anders stepped closer. “You’re losing your edge, Fenris.”

“I think I am.” Fenris spoke barely above a breath, and Anders very nearly didn’t hear the quiet statement, murmured as it was into the wine glass, Fenris’ eyes firmly on the fire.

Anders decided to ignore the statement. He was no fool, and it might have been in response to what he said, but it was not for him.

“How are your wounds?”

Fenris waved the hand that was not holding his glass.

“Gone. Healed. You did your job, Mage. Fret not.”

“I think more of that was you than me, to be honest.” Anders stepped around the chair, so out of place in the entrance hallway, and yet so obviously Fenris, to settle himself by the main entrance to the estate.

“I told you all I would be fine, but as usual, nobody listened. Between you and Hawke I sometimes feel I would be better off having conversations with the walls.” Fenris snorted, and Anders found himself smiling despite himself.

“I might actually be inclined to agree with you,” Anders said softly. “Hawke told me about Danarius. You are not bound to listen to any of us any more. It must be nice. To be free.”

Fenris kept his gaze on the fire, swirling his glass of wine, but not lifting it to his lips.

“I do not feel free,” he said eventually into the silence. “I am not sure I know how to be free.”

Anders thought of the Circle, of the Templars that drew closer with every day. He thought of Amaranthine, and the Wardens. Of Meredith, Orsino, Alrik. He thought of his clinic, of Hawke, of Justice.

“I am afraid I cannot help you there. I can hardly remember what it is to be truly free anymore.”

Fenris did not reply, fixated on the fire, not having looked at Anders once, and finally Anders turned, opening the door to the mansion and about to take his leave, when he turned, hand still on the door.

“Goodnight, Fenris,” he said, stepping outside and closing the door behind him quietly, heading back to Darktown and his clinic, leaving Fenris to his solitude.

He did not hear Fenris muttered, "Goodnight, Mage", the elf sliding deeper into his chair and finishing his wine before sighing, moving to retrieve another bottle or three from the cellar, unable to shake Anders' words from his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [EmotionalMorphine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine).

“Anders! Anders, you here?” Hawke called out through the clinic. It was empty of patients for once, the fires burning low in the braziers, the candles waning.

Anders poked his head out from the storage closet at the back of the room. He heaved a heavy sigh. If Hawke was here he wasn’t going to get much else done. Hawke would want him to go places, possible trudge along the Wounded Coast for days on end where he would get attacked by mosquitoes and sandflies and end up with dirt and grit in places that weren’t easy to wash out.

“We’re off to the Bone Pit!” Hawke carolled.

The Bone Pit. Only  _mildly_  better.

Anders took his staff and shrugged his coat on. The day had been warm and his clinic was always kept well heated. Lirene would look after his patients while he was gone, dealing with the serious cases as best she could. She was a quick study and had learned much over the years spent with him. She would have made an excellent Spirit Healer had she had the talent.

Hawke slung his arm over Anders’ shoulders and squeezed him tight and Anders couldn’t keep the blush off his face. He knew his…feelings…for Hawke were unrequited but he couldn’t just turn them off just like that. Hawke wanted and needed his friendship more than ever. They were all his friends, no, his family, now. Hawke had lost everyone and he worked to keep his new family happy and safe with every ounce of his being.

“We just have to stop off and pick up Fenris. I sent Varric on ahead to get him prepared in case there was a, erm, repeat of last time.”

“Fenris doesn’t care that you’re a mage,” Anders said. He locked the clinic doors behind him and followed Hawke to the Amell cellar entrance which would give them a direct route to Hightown, avoiding all the problems usually associated with the slums.

“Sometimes I wonder. Especially lately. He’s been so tetchy, even worse around you and Merrill, and sometimes he looks at me and…”

Anders looked away. He was aware of Fenris’ feelings for Hawke. They mirrored his own. Fenris thought he held his desires close to his heart but Anders saw the same wistful expression on his face, the one Anders was sure he had given far too often. It was why they squabbled over silly things like how much attention Hawke might pay one and not the other.

It wasn’t Hawke’s fault he wasn’t interested in all that. He just wanted their friendship, their kindness, and the love of a family. Not anything more. Anders was sure everyone in their little group had had a crush on Hawke at one point or another.

Orana greeted them when they came up through the cellar. Anders greeted her warmly but she still avoided his gaze and was far too quick to cow should either of them move too quickly. She might be free but she was a slave at heart. Whether she would ever grow out of it was left to be seen.

Fenris had cast aside the shackles. But he had made the decision for himself, had run from his Master and then killed the man himself. Still it had taken him years in Hawke’s company to completely change his behaviours. Anders remembered him when they first met. Fenris had been unable to hold anyone’s gaze for too long, stared at the floor when he spoke, and seemed completely unsure of how to act in any situation other than battle.

“We’ve got a problem,” Varric said, swaggering into Hawke’s entrance hall.

“There is no problem, Dwarf,” Fenris said from beside him.

Despite his complaints, Varric took Hawke aside and left Anders with Fenris. As if that was ever a good idea.

Anders looked Fenris up and down. He looked terrible. Washed out and swaying slightly, his eyes glazed and red, lips pale and bloodless. “You look terrible.”

“And you look like an abomination.”

“Well, actually, I don’t. But thank you for reminding me of just how much you despise me. What’s wrong with you? Have you been sleeping?”

“That is none of your concern.”

“I’m the  _healer_.” Anders rolled his eyes. It was impossible just to have a civil conversation with Fenris. Even after all these years they still needled at each other, still got under one another’s skin.

“You are a mage,” Fenris spat.

Anders was about to argue back but Hawke placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. It silenced them both.

“Let’s be on our way, hmm?” Hawke asked. Varric shot him a concerned look but didn’t argue further. No one argued when Hawke had made up his mind.

* * *

 

The trip to the Bone Pit was uneventful. And quiet. Anders was very aware of Fenris trailing behind them, the stumbling gait he was trying to hide. He grouched to himself under his breath every time he tripped over a stick or rock or sometimes nothing at all and Anders finally realised what was wrong.

Fenris was drunk.

And Hawke had still brought him along. Who knew how much the elf had drunk to get him into this state! The last thing he should be doing was going into battle. He was liable to get himself - or someone else - killed. 

Fenris had been avoiding them all. Anders hadn’t seen him except for their weekly tavern night. Fenris had been drunk that night, too, and was dragged home by Isabela and Hawke. But getting drunk on card night and getting drunk alone in his manor were two different things.

Anders looked back over his shoulder and Fenris sneered at him. Anders turned back before he was yelled at. He didn’t need the yelling. 

But despite his better sense he was…worried about Fenris. Ever since he had killed Danarius and his sister his behaviour had changed. Aveline had commented that she and Donnic hadn’t seen him lately. Hawke had wanted to bring him food, which Fenris declined. Even Isabela seemed concerned for him and had laid off her usual flirting, instead using her charms to get Fenris to eat some of the olives and cured meats that had been brought to their table.

Fenris had killed his sister. Yes, she had done something terrible and likely wasn’t a very nice person but she had still been family. Anders wondered what memories Fenris had of her, if any. Yet when they had spoken last they had spoken of freedom. Fenris was free now. And he had no idea what to do with it.

Anders supposed after ten years with just one thought on his mind, moving on would be difficult. Fenris had killed Danarius now, was free, and now had no purpose. No purpose and nothing to move on to. He had made sure of that when he killed Varania.

Fenris could say what he liked about Anders but he was wrong. Anders didn’t just hate indiscriminately. He didn’t even really hate Fenris. He hated that the elf hated him and painted all mages with the same brush. That’s what he hated.

“Heads up!” Hawke cried.

A rain of arrows peppered the ground ahead of them, blocking their path. Behind them someone let out a war cry. Anders was stuck in the middle of their group with nowhere to go. He cast a repulsion glyph around Varric and watched as Hawke used his Force magic to pull their attackers away from them. Fenris was on his other side. He swore in Tevene and raced forward, sword cutting an arch through the air. 

Anders was able to throw a shield around himself just as an arrow flew towards him. It fell to the ground but was followed swiftly by others. He hadn’t any time to retaliate. The archers were up on the hill above them. 

His shield weakening, Anders reached for a lyrium potion. He swallowed the cool liquid down just as a huge blast rocked the archers, crushing them. Hawke grinned and took Anders under his arm, tugging him towards the safety of the perimeter with Varric.

Hawke was a different kind of mage to Anders. He liked to be in the fray, enjoyed battle, threw around his force magic carelessly. Anders admired his strength. Anders was a frail waif compared to him.

Anders cast a rejuvenation spell over Hawke as he turned and ran back into the battle at Fenris’ side. They worked well together. Hawke would pull an enemy into Fenris’ range, pushed back others that encroached too closely, all without words or even a glance between them. It was instinctive.

That is, it usually was. Hawke pulled a man towards Fenris and Fenris cut him down, but seemed to have trouble heaving his sword back up. Anders cast another spell, his magic seeking Fenris out. He frowned. Over the years, Anders had healed Fenris many times, despite the elf’s dislike for magic. Healing Fenris was like touching the Fade. It made Justice quiet in his head, made everything seem sharper and brighter. Justice said that Fenris sung. But if there was music to be heard now it was discordant, and ugly.

Anders pulled back and his attention was turned by Varric, the dwarf grabbing his arm and pulling him aside. Anders threw up another shield around them both and they hunkered behind it until Varric could pick off the assailant.

“ANDERS!”

Anders froze, his blood running cold at Hawke’s scream. His head snapped up and Hawke was holding Fenris in his arms, blood running down over his bare forearms. Their attackers lay dead in a circle around them both. Anders rushed forward. He knew something would go wrong! He just knew it! He had been around the Tower more than once and he knew when something was going to go sour.

Hawke lowered Fenris to the ground. An arrow was buried in Fenris’ side, missing his breastplate and sliding easily through his leather jerkin. Why the blighted elf didn’t wear more armour, Anders would never know.

He dropped to Fenris’ side, hands reaching out, magic searching. He could feel the injury as though he could see inside the flesh. “The arrow has to come out,” he said to Hawke.

“I’ll do it,” Varric said. “That way you can hold him.”

Hawke was smoothing back Fenris’ hair. It was better that way. Hawke couldn’t stand to inflict pain on any of them, even if it was needed.

“Just…get it out,” Fenris slurred and then winced. He looked like he wanted to curl in on himself but moving caused too much pain.

Anders could feel the damage the arrow had done. Straight through the elf’s major organs and into his intestines. Difficult to heal and a serious risk of infection.

Varric grasped the arrow and Fenris steeled himself. Varric didn’t even give him a count of three, ripping the arrow out. Fenris cried out, his body spasming and Hawke held him tight, trying to shush him.

Anders set to work. His magic curled through Fenris’ flesh. It didn’t feel right. Anders wasn’t sure how to describe it but usually he had no trouble healing Fenris. The lyrium in Fenris’ body had aided him, had closed wounds and driven away infection sometimes faster than Anders could. Yet now it seemed to work sluggishly, and pouring his magic into the elf was like trying to wade up a stream of molasses. Fenris looked up and him and Anders wondered if he could feel it, too.

“We will need to rest,” Anders said. The ruptured organs closed beneath his hands, blood flow slowing.

“I saw a clearing a while back,” Varric said. “Make a good camp for the night.”

Hawke nodded and he leaned down to bury his nose against Fenris’ silvery hair. Anders noticed the tear slide down his cheek. He couldn’t feel too jealous, knowing Hawke would be just as cut up over his own injury should he sustain one.

Hawke lifted Fenris and carried him, despite the protests the elf made. It was easier, faster, and safer for Hawke to carry him with the wound just closed. 

Anders followed, wobbly on his feet, worse off than he should be. Yes, it had been an extensive injury, but he was a skilled healer and had dealt with far worse.

He didn’t know how to bring it up. Should he tell Hawke? Fenris? What would he even say? Oh yes, you see, when I healed you it felt like your body was fighting me! No, I’m not a crazy mage, please believe me.

He leaned on his staff heavily and Varric shot him a concerned look. Anders smiled and shook his head. Honestly, he was fine. He just needed to rest. They could all use some rest.

Hawke and Varric set up camp without complaint, leaving their warrior and healer to relax by the newly made fire. It was clear no one wanted to talk about what had happened. Hawke would look at Fenris, his concern evident, and Varric would look at Hawke.

And no one said a thing about it, Varric making pressured small talk, put on the spot.

“I think we should turn in,” Hawke said finally and Anders groaned a sigh of relief. The awkwardness was palpable.

“You doing okay, Broody?” Varric asked.

“I am fine.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Anders blurted out. Hawke opened his mouth to protest but Varric shook his head.

“Let Blondie take first watch to make sure Broody here gets off to sleep.”

“Right. Right, good idea.” Hawke clapped his hand down on Anders’ shoulder and then pressed a lyrium potion into his hand with a concerned look. Take it, was left unsaid.

And Anders waited. He knew Fenris was waiting, too, his eyes closed but far from asleep. They both knew Anders would talk to him about what had happened, so as soon as Hawke began to snore, Anders turned to Fenris.

“About before…”

“If you wish for my thanks then…you have it,” Fenris said, his eyes still closed.

“No. No, that’s, well thank you, but that’s not what I meant. Fenris, something is wrong. With you.”

“I realise.”

“Then what is it? Not three months ago you were mauled by a dragon and you sustained less damage! I was ready to heal you and…Maker, it was like the wounds disappeared before my eyes! Today you take one arrow and I was afraid–”

“I am fine,” Fenris cut in.

“Yes, thanks to me,” Anders said.

“And I thanked you.”

Anders huffed. It was so hard to speak with Fenris. “So you’ve noticed something going on?”

Fenris grunted. “My resistances have…weakened.”

The drinking… Anders leaned forward. He wanted to understand, wanted to press his magic forward and seek out the problem with Fenris. But he knew the elf would never allow him.

“You were fine the other night. You were fine! Why now—”

Fenris choked on a laugh. It sounded bitter as he looked. “I am a  _free man_.” He held his hand up and the lyrium glowed, burning paths through his dark skin. It glowed and then weakened, flickered, and died. “I will  _die_  a free man.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [StormDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDragon).

The lyrium brands that once rivaled Justice’s own light were now only as bright as dying candle light.

However once Anders’ mind registered Fenris’ words, he grew furious. He didn’t understand why Fenris was giving up so easily after finally getting the freedom he had yearned for. The freedom Hawke had helped him fight and kill for.

What was wrong with the elves in their group, casting aside such irreplaceable things? Things that Anders would do anything to have.

“That’s it?” He glared at the elf, his hands tightly fisting his tunic to keep him from shaking the man. “After all these years, you’re finally free and instead of seizing it. You’re just going to let it slip away. You’re just going to lay down and die?” Not bothering to keep his own feelings from coloring his voice. “You’re more of an idiot than I had thought.”

A familiar spark of anger flashed in Fenris’ eyes, matching the heat of his own glare but it quickly faded. Fenris sighed and covered his eyes with arm. “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand! I-”

Before the mage could fully express his outrage, Fenris cut him off, “You have your memories of your family and of a life before your Circle. While I.” A bitter smile stretched across his face. “While I remember nothing of my own. And every hope I had of remembering them died with her.”

Anders didn’t need to ask who Fenris was referring to.

And Fenris was right, Anders did remember his family. Though some days he tried not to remember them. Tried to forget the look his own father had given him as the Templars clasped iron cuffs, too big and too heavy for a scrawny child like him.

Over the years he had grown use to people looking at him with a mix of hatred, fear, and disgust. But no matter how long passed since he was taken away, the memory of that same look in his father’s eyes still hurt.

A warmth blossomed within his chest, pulling him away from his memories and back to the present. He murmured his gratitude to Justice, knowing the spirit wished to comfort him.

Anders gently laid his hand over Fenris’ hand. Encouraged that the elf didn’t try to remove his hand Anders spoke, “We may not be able to help you remember your past but we still want to help you. We… We’re your family too.” It was odd to say it, he was certain only Hawke saw them all as family but it was worth a shot.

Fenris drew his arm away and looked at Anders with indecipherable gaze. “My family?” The elf’s voice gave nothing away as he studied Anders. “Including you?”

The mage fidgeted, caught off guard by the question. He had expected the elf to brush it off, laugh, or agree that Hawke was his family. “Well, if you want too,” he mumbled, laying his hand on his lap. Or he would have had Fenris not held his other hand. “Gamlen is Hawke’s uncle and Bartrand is Varric’s brother. So you don’t have to like everyone in your family.”

Fenris squeezed Anders’ hand and then released it, the corner of his lip twitched. “Very well.”

At least the elf was amused by his answer. “So will you let me help you?” Anders asked, hopeful that it meant Fenris would let him use his magic to help. Fenris nodded and Anders scooted a little closer to the elf, his hands already uncorking the lyrium potion. “Just try to relax and tell me if it hurts, okay,” he said and downed the potion and quickly went to work, fearing that Fenris may change his mind.

The elf grunted and his markings began to give off a faint glow as Anders poured his magic into him. It took more mana for Anders expected but he managed to clear the elf’s system of alcohol. The amount of it still in the elf was surprising, either Fenris drank more than any man could or his metabolism was slowing down. Anders made a small note to himself to see just how much alcohol Fenris consumed before he accompanied them.

With the first part done, Anders set to work understanding what caused the lyrium to resist his healing magic. The task proved harder as the lyrium pushed back against his magic. His persistence was eventually rewarded as the lyrium seem to start allowing his magic in. Slowly the lyrium became more responsive and began to pull at his magic, and surprisingly, started draining him of his mana.

Instinctively, Anders pulled away from Fenris. The light of both his magic and Fenris’ markings faded away, leaving nothing but the warm glow of the fire.

“Mage?” Fenris sat up, looking at him with concern. “Are you alright?”

Anders gave a small laugh. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” He was certain Fenris could see his shock. He had healed Fenris for years and never did the elf’s tattoos drain his mana. Then again he never directly sent his magic into them. He set aside those thoughts and gave Fenris a once over. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Fenris replied, studying his hand as his thumb brushed over the marking on his plam. “My markings still ache but they are more bearable now than they ever have been.”

“Have they always ached?” Anders inquired, eyeing the silvery lines on the elf’s skin.

“Yes, but as of recently that ache has been growing worse. The alcohol helped, at least for a while.”

“I see, when we get back to Kirkwall maybe I can find something to help ease it. For now however…” Anders motioned the elf to lie down. “You should get some sleep. If they grow worse overnight, tell me and I’ll tell Hawke to return to Kirkwall.”

Fenris nodded in agreement, he glanced at Anders before lying down. “Thank you.”

Anders was a little dumbstruck by the elf’s gratitude. He smiled, hopeful that this meant a turning point in their relationship. Enough of a turning point that Hawke wouldn’t need to guilt Fenris into letting Anders heal him, at least.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [WarriorMaggie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie).

“Hawke, you do not need to coddle me. We can continue on to the Bone Pit.” Fenris’ voice echoed up the path. Hawke didn’t even slow, simply grunted in response and kept walking. “Hawke,” Fenris tried again.

“We’re going back and that’s final. You were severely injured. Even if Anders healed the wound I wouldn’t… Maker, Fenris. We could have lost you. Do you know how…I can’t…” Hawke pursed his lips and strode ahead.

“Let me talk to him, Broody. He’s just worried over you. You’re family, whether you want to admit it or not. Seeing you injured like that? He’s got some guilt, alright?” Varric patted at Fenris’ elbow and hurried after Hawke.

Fenris scrunched up his nose, glancing over at Anders. “Any words you wish to add to this?”

“How are the markings?” Anders kept the question neutral, ignoring the obviously emotional Hawke ahead in favor of side-eyeing the elf. “How are you feeling?”

Fenris’ entire face scrunched up at the question. “I feel…better?”

“Is that a yes or a no better?” Anders stopped walking. “Fenris? Either you feel better or not.”

“What you did last night, it is fading.” Fenris huffed softly. “You should just…”

“I know you aren’t going to say leave you alone. Let you return to the mansion to drink yourself into a stupor and die.” The words were hissed out. “Look at Hawke. Look at how concerned he is for you. You selfish, insufferable…idiotic…elf.”

“Tell me how you really feel?” Fenris tried for joking but the words fell flat. “What else can I do?”

The question reverberated between them, Anders’ mind racing through possibilities and theories. Justice filtered into his thoughts, the spirit adding that the lyrium’s song was still discordant, softer, like a bell that had been dented on one side - the clear ringing tone jangling. “What I did helped, correct?”

“Yes. Whatever you did…it made the markings calm.” Fenris nodded. “What did you do?”

“I’m not sure? But I think it has to do with the lyrium and magic. Let me look in my books and see if there is anything. And when we get back to Kirkwall, I will go home with you and see I can replicate last night.” Anders’ voice was thoughtful. “And before you open that mouth of yours to tell me no, shut up.”

Fenris clicked his mouth closed and gave a tight nod. He dropped his gaze to the path and fought the urge to claw at his arms. The pain was growing, the brands itching, skin feeling dry. Worse was the lethargy settling into his muscles, the sharp pain just behind each breath that seemed to jab and twist at his innards. As much as he wanted to tell the mage no, he wouldn’t. Not when the pain was returning and with it the feeling of his life slowly slipping from him.

* * *

 

Hawke had given Anders a grateful smile when he announced he would see Fenris home, his eyes lingering on the elf. Anders’ quiet, “he’ll be fine, let me see to him,” was met with a tight hug and a soft, pained sigh. Varric had taken Hawke’s elbow after that, nodded to Anders and Fenris, and led the still-upset man away.

Anders had carefully wrapped one arm around Fenris’ shoulders, worried the elf would collapse, and led him to the dilapidated mansion he called home. The walk there was slow and painful, Fenris hissing softly whenever a set of stairs appeared. They were both sweating by the time they reached the mansion - Fenris limping and Anders half-carrying the elf.

In fact, the moment they were through the door, Anders hefted the elf over his shoulder and staggered up the stairs. “Maker, you’re a heavy elf.”

“I can walk, fool mage,” Fenris groused.

“This is faster. Trust me.” Anders managed to get them both into Fenris’ bedroom and the elf on the bed before his legs buckled. “Made it.”

“Barely.” The word was dry and filled with amusement. “Stick to staff twirling.”

“Says the heavy elf.” Anders shoved Fenris over and sat down. “Right. Let’s…um. Let’s take off the armor first.”

“Why?” Suspicion filled that word.

“So I can see your markings. Look, don’t argue. Just…just listen to me for once. I’ve got your best interests at heart.” Anders reached for the buckles on the breastplate. “You can trust me.”

Fenris huffed, but didn’t argue. Instead he pulled his gauntlets from his hands and then sat up to pull off the breastplate and shoulder guards. Anders carefully stacked each piece on the ground by the bed, moving slowly to give Fenris time to relax. When Anders’ fingers reached for the ties on Fenris’ tunic, the elf simply sighed and pulled the entire garment over his head.

Clearing his throat, Anders fought to not gape at the expanse of dark skin, the swirl of the lyrium markings, the defined muscles. Fenris’ quiet huff let him know he wasn’t successful.

“Just get on with it.” Fenris’ voice was gravely. “I know what I look like.”

“Magnificent?” Anders asked, trying desperately to not stroke his hands over all that skin, instead pressing them firmly on the middle of Fenris’ chest.

“I…no…” Fenris frowned. “No.”

“No?” Anders swallowed. Fenris’ skin was warm, smooth under his hand. “You are beautiful, Fenris. Trust me. Now…relax. I’m going to try tapping into your markings. If I hurt you, let me know.”

The word beautiful had made Fenris’ mouth fall open, eyes wide with shock. The sudden wash of Anders’ magic pulled a strangled noise from him, body going rigid and then relaxing as the magic poured over his skin and then sank into the brands.

Anders had closed his eyes, letting his magic quest through the brands. Just like last night, something seemed to push back at him, a filter that he had to work his magic through. Gradually, though, he was able to get  past the filter and then…just like last night, it felt as if the lyrium was pulling mana from him. He tried to slow the flow of magic, but the lyrium fought back, draining more.

Opening his eyes, Anders watched as the lyrium markings slowly began to flare. The more mana that was siphoned from him, the brighting the markings shone. Sweat began to gather on his forehead, drip into his eyes. He was vaguely aware that Fenris was talking to him, saying something - but he couldn’t seem to hear anything. He was going lightheaded, his magic fluttering as the markings slowly drained him.

There was a snap of power as Fenris flung himself away from Anders. Both men stared at each other, eyes wide, Fenris’ markings flaring bright in the gloom of the room. Anders swayed, lightheaded from the loss of mana and sudden break in contact. In the back of his mind, Justice was a ball of worry - the spirit trying to tell him something…something about the markings. Fenris’ mouth was still moving, the words indecipherable. Anders blinked once and frowned as the room seemed to tilt sideways. The last thing he saw before it went dark was Fenris reaching for him, the elf grabbing him before he swayed off the bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [DashingApostate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate).

Anders was swaying where he sat, the faintest cracks of blue splitting over his skin before closing just as quickly, his body slumping bonelessly forward toward the floor, golden eyes rolling back behind closing lids.

Fenris reacted with a swiftness born of a life spent in battle, sliding himself deftly over the worn velvet coverlet without thought to catch the other man before he could fall face-first onto the hard ground. One arm moved around his shoulders to keep him steady while the other slid around his waist, nearly bringing the mage into his own lap as he held him from the edge of the bed.

Fenris paused with the mage in his arms, realizing that this was the second time in recent memory that this man had lost consciousness in his home. Both instances in which Anders had overtaxed himself with the intention of aiding someone in need.

As always, Fenris was uncomfortable being the recipient of the mage’s unending concern…

Blonde hair tickled at his forearm as it fanned out behind the other man’s drooping head, along with the raven black feathers at his shoulders. The lyrium in Fenris’ skin was still faintly lit, pulsing in time with his rapid heart beat in a persistent glow he could not seem to get under control, bathing the mage’s relaxed features in a soft blue light. 

Fenris stared down at Anders in a bit of a daze. The raw, unending, painful edge of his markings had been lessened to a dull throbbing that barely even seemed to register. He knew from experience that this was a temporary releif, but it did not make his senses any less giddy in response. After spending what he could remember of his life in a state of constant aching, it left him feeling light, clear-headed.

Settling the mage more securely against his chest, Fenris reached a hand up to his pale neck to press fingers firmly against the warm skin of his throat to feel for a pulse. When he felt a steady rhythm, a tension in his own shoulders seemed to loosen, and he let out a long breath. 

_“We’re your family too.”_

The memory of the mage’s words to him the night before struck like a bolt, and Fenris found himself tightening his hold around the other man, a shocking pull of what he could only identify as protectiveness settling over him with Anders tucked so securely against his chest.

For a few shaky breaths, Fenris remained still; holding the mage, the lyrium pulsing…

But as the pulsing light of the lyrium began to slowly fade, so did his tight grip on Anders. Coming back to himself a bit, Fenris moved backward over the bed, lifting the mage with him until he had him laid out with blonde hair spilling over his own pillow. 

Fenris climbed from his bed, standing with his back to Anders’ unconscious form. He let his eyes pause with an unfocused gaze over the flames dancing in his fire place, his thoughts a maelstrom of tension and confusion in his head.

Should he go get someone? Perhaps a healer?

No, Anders was the only healer he truly knew of. There were others in the city, of course, but the only place he could think to look would be the Chantry. No one that he would willingly escort back to the infamous, haunted mansion in Hightown he had somehow kept from public scrutiny over the past seven years. Particularly when the patient in question for this potential Chantry-employed-healer was an apostate.

And a rather infamous one, at that.

The next option was obvious, but the thought of finding Hawke and telling him of the precarious situation with his markings only served to make Fenris shift uneasily where he stood. He was well aware of the dark-haired mage’s constant worry for him, as well as everyone else appointed to the Champion’s self-made family. 

Hawke was not option. Not yet, at least. He would not add to the greif he had already caused the other man as of late…

When a soft sigh sounded from behind him, Fenris nearly jumped where he stood. Turning to look at the mage in his bed, he found that Anders had moved, twisting himself onto his side with a furrow between twitching, dark-golden brows.

Nightmares? Even when unconscious?

After a moments hesitation, Fenris crossed back over the few steps he had put between himself and the bed, a hand reaching out before he could fully think through his actions.

He pressed his palm flat over Anders’ stubbled cheek, his voice raising in the quiet room as he called the mage’s name firmly, a name he that he knew he used rarely out loud.

“Anders.”

Anders sucked in a deep breath, eyes snapping open and coming awake with such an keen alertness, it was as if Fenris had shouted directly into his ear. His expression was wild for a few blinks, glancing around almost frantically with a few harsh pulls of air. 

When his golden eyes settled on Fenris, the mage visibly relaxed, his breathing slowing to a normal, steady rise and fall to his chest. 

Realizing himself, Fenris let his hand fall to his side, curling it into a fist at the lost of warmth.

“Fenris…?”

Fenris did not let his thoughts linger on the tug in his chest upon hearing Anders voice so faint and unsure.

“You are safe, mage,” he said, surprising himself with a gentleness to his tone he did not know himself capable. “Only dreaming.”

Anders closed his eyes, and Fenris couldn’t stop himself from taking the slightest step back as familiar blue fissures broke over the mage’s skin.  

“Right.” Anders breathed out slowly. “…Right,” he repeated before opening his eyes again, and Fenris was relieved to find them their usual warm, honey-brown. 

There was a pause between them, Fenris allowing the other man to compose his thoughts before speaking again. 

When he did, Anders inclined his head to meet Fenris’ gaze.

“It almost seems as though you’re making a habit of falling to the floor in my home, Mage.”

Anders let out a small, hoarse laugh. “Well,” he muttered with what Fenris could only assume was an attempt at a humorous tone, the mage’s voice sounding too slurred for his liking. “You know me and my bad habits." 

Despite himself, Fenris' mouth twitched.

"Only too well." 

Anders’ responding smile seemed to send some sort of thrill through Fenris’ stomach, and he found himself turning his back quickly to the mage in favor of the fire once more as heat spread over his face, a single word fleetingly registering in the back of his mind that the other man had so foolishly aimed at him earlier that same day.

_Beautiful._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [EmotionalMorphine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine).

Anders slammed the cover of the heavy book shut. Nothing! He had been through every book he owned and there was nothing even remotely close to what Fenris was experiencing.

Of course, there was not anyone quite like Fenris. He was an anomaly, one-of-a-kind, and rightly should be dead. How Fenris had even survived Danarius’ experiments was beyond Anders.

He huffed and leaned forward on his desk, just closing his eyes for a moment. He was exhausted. The clinic had been busy all day and as soon as he had extinguished the lanterns he returned to his search for a cure for Fenris.

Surprisingly, Justice found it a suitable use of their time. What had been done to Fenris was unconscionable. Helping him was the just thing to do.

If only he could get his hands on some of the books in the Circle. Fereldan’s Circle had an extensive library, one that Anders’ had enjoyed working his way through. It was one of the only good things about the Blighted place. He had no idea what the Gallows’ library looked like but it was undoubtedly better stocked than his small chest of old and damaged books.

Anders was not about to sneak in and find out, though. The further away from that place he was, the better off he would be.

But it didn’t help his situation any. It still left him with no more information than he started with and time ticking away on Fenris’ life. He had been to see the elf twice since returning from the Bone Pit with Hawke and both times he had used his own mana to flood Fenris. It seemed to be the only thing keeping Fenris healthy. Or, as healthy as he seemed to be. Anders knew the markings still hurt Fenris, but the elf never groused about them, just kept up that damnable sour expression as he went about his life.

And he was still drinking. Anders had found no less than four empty bottles surrounding Fenris’ chair last time he visited. Helped dull the ache, Fenris said. But it was doing nothing for his health.

He had promised Fenris he would visit tonight. A promise that had been met with a grunt of acknowledgment and nothing else. To Anders, that was enough. He stocked his packs with lyrium and health potions, enough to leave Fenris some even if it meant he was leaving his clinic understocked. He would just have to make do somehow. He always did.

By now Anders knew all the shortcuts to Hightown, avoiding both Templar and Guard patrols. He would have used the Amell cellar shortcut but neither he nor Fenris felt that involving Hawke just yet was the best idea. So it meant Anders had to take the many stairs up from Darktown to Hightown, his legs aching by the time he reached the clean paved streets.

He breathed in a lungfull of fresh air and arched his back, groaning as he heard a pop from somewhere near his neck. Too much time hunched over his desk lately.

Fenris’ mansion loomed ahead; dark and foreboding. It was little wonder why no one ever dared to investigate the manor. Anders didn’t both to knock and the door wasn't locked. Fenris had been expecting him after all.

“Fenris?” Anders called into the gloom. Up the stairs he could see the flicker of firelight. But there was no reply. Not that being ignored was at all unusual.

When he crested the stairs he saw Fenris sitting in his chair in front of the fire, a bottle held in one dangling arm. Anders sighed and Fenris looked over at him. His expression was blank.

“Maker, Fenris, it smells like a tavern in here.” Anders placed his staff near the door and picked up one of the discarded bottles on the floor. He set it on the low table.

“I have grown used to the smell,” Fenris replied. He didn’t sound drunk, thankfully, but he also didn’t sound entirely sober.

Anders stopped in front of him and looked down. He couldn’t help the slight hitch of his breath. “Andraste’s Knickers…”

Fenris looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. Dark circles marred the skin under each eye and his cheeks were flushed. More worryingly, Anders could see the grey tinge to the skin around Fenris’ chin and throat. It was easily noticeable, such a different color to his normal skin tone. Anders looked down at Fenris’ hands and saw the same loss of color, the beds of each nail tinged blue.

Anders immediately swept the bottle from Fenris’ hand and set it aside. He grabbed Fenris’ hand and brought it into the light. Fenris let him with nothing more than a sigh. His hand was cool and clammy.

“It is growing worse,” Fenris said. He sounded so resigned to his fate. Anders scrunched up his brows and held Fenris’ hand in his, not ready to let go just yet.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Fenris didn’t answer immediately. He watched the fire, his eyes glassy. Anders could see the pale color of his lips. Fenris turned to him finally. “I am experiencing loss of sensation. It is distracting. The markings burn in my skin, like...ants crawling through my flesh. I am not sure which is worse.”

“And?”

“The wine has settled unpleasantly in my stomach.”

Anders scoffed. Well, of course! “You need to stop drinking. It’s not doing you any favors. I can give you something to try dull the pain from your markings.”

Fenris nodded once and then turned his gaze back to the fire. “Several times...time has slipped away from me.”

“Did you faint?”

“No.” Fenris scowled. “I was awake yet...unaware of myself. I don’t know how long it lasted.”

Anders let go of Fenris’ hand and the elf drew it back to his lap, curling his fingers into a fist.

Anders rested back on the balls of his feet. He had been a healer for so many years and he had no experience with anyone like Fenris. But he had seen lyrium poisoning before and Fenris was showing all the signs. Soon he would begin to experience muscle tremors and weakness, loss of memory, would become sensitive to light and sound, would experience further problems with his digestion until his organs began to fail; liver, kidneys, heart…

Anders opened one of the packs on his belt and drew out a lyrium potion. It glowed blue in the light of the fire. “Take this. I...I don’t know if it will help, but at this stage it really can’t hurt.”

“It could kill me,” Fenris said.

It was true that only mages and Templars took lyrium like this but Fenris had been draining Anders’ mana each time he tried tapping into Fenris’ markings. It was the lyrium that Fenris’ body was after, just like a Templar denied.

“I have a hunch.”

Fenris raised one brow in question, yet he took the potion from Anders’ hand and uncorked it. He trusted Anders. The man was a healer and he would gain nothing from hurting Fenris.

Fenris took the potion in one swig. It burned like ice down his throat and into his chest. He spluttered and leaned forward, a hacking cough working its way from him. Anders reached for him, holding his shoulders and patting his back soothingly.

Fenris’ marking blazed blue, almost white, lighting up the room around him. He could feel Anders beside him, not because the man was touching him but because of his magic. It was like a call to him. It was more soothing than the hand on his back.

“Well, it didn’t kill you,” Anders said. He sounded pleased with himself. “How do you feel?”

“...better. The numbness in my fingers has dissipated. They...tingle.”

“Oh yes, I get that after taking a lyrium potion, too. It’s like your whole body is electrified.”

That was exactly how it felt. Fenris clenched his hand into a fist. He didn’t like the idea that he was consuming something meant for a mage. He wanted nothing to do with lyrium or a mage’s healing. But he was bound to both.

“Until I can find a cure, this is all I can think of. I can’t keep healing you and having you drain my mana until I collapse in your arms. It’s getting to be a little embarrassing. So this will have to do. I… I don’t know what the long term effects might be, if any, but right now it might be the only thing keeping you alive.”

“Where, exactly, do you think you might find a cure for this?” Fenris asked, trying to keep the sneer from his voice and failing entirely. There was no cure for this. What he was, shouldn’t be. Danarius had made a mistake with him, had meddled with things meant to be left alone, and Fenris should have never survived that night.

“I’ve got sources, okay? The Circle might have some books… I can have some smuggled out. And I...well, I have sources.” Anders sat on the arm of Fenris’ chair, his hand still on the elf’s back. Fenris hadn’t made to move and he didn’t complain when Anders sat down.

“Sources… You ask me to trust your sources, mage.”

“Don’t ‘mage’ me. I’m the one helping you, all right? I just...I don’t want Hawke to worry about this right now.”

“I do not, either.”

“Then you have to trust me just a little bit more and trust that I’m trying to help you. If we lost you--”

“We?”

Anders sat up straight and pulled his hand away from Fenris. He hadn’t said ‘Hawke’, he had said ‘we’. Because when he thought about it, he didn’t at all like the idea of losing the prickly elf. Fenris was a part of their little found family. Anders respected him, maybe...maybe even liked him on his better less broody days. And he wouldn’t let Fenris die if there was something he could do to help.

Not that he at all liked his options. Yes, he could smuggle books out of the Gallows via the Mage Underground. It wouldn’t be hard for a mage to bring some books to him when he helped them flee the Circle. But he had no idea what books the Gallows even held. Knowing Meredith and her tyrannical rule any books of use would have been outlawed and burned.

He could have books sent to him from the Fereldan Circle, but that would take time to organize and although he hadn’t read all the books available, he doubted how many would be of use to him.

His last two options he tried to push aside and ignore. Neither were favorable.

Tevinter would undoubtedly have more knowledge on what he sought. Danarius must have read books, must have gained his ideas somewhere. The man’s estate might still be standing, the library still in use. But he absolutely loathed the idea of taking Fenris back to Tevinter. Especially so soon after Danarius’ and his sister’s death.

His other option...was the Wardens. The Wardens had extensive libraries with access to books older than Anders had ever seen. Even the small library at Amaranthine had been a goldmine of treasures. He had eagerly worked through as many books as he could get his grubby little hands on. Who knew what books the older Warden’s Keep might have, not to mention Weisshaupt.

But both meant travel, and both meant explaining to Hawke what was happening, something neither of them was willing to do. Hawke had just lost his mother - the idea of losing Fenris would kill him.

Anders sighed. Nevermind that the Wardens’ might kill him if he were to return. He hadn’t exactly left on good terms. He had never heard of someone voluntarily leaving the Grey Wardens before.

“Just believe me when I say you would be missed, all right?” Anders said.

He saw a small quirk to Fenris’ lips and the elf looked up at him. “I didn’t know you had come to care,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, sod off,” Anders said and folded his arms with a huff. It only brought out a chuckle from Fenris. One that brought a smile to Anders.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [Akaiba](http://akaiba.tumblr.com/).

Anders was far too old to be this petulant about indecision, but the lack of options- or over-abundance of poor options- was driving him mad.

Lyrium potions and Anders’ magic were the only things sustaining Fenris at this point, regular doses of his mana poured into the elf’s skin when he could spare it until Anders’ was wrung dry and faint but still it faded, doses of lyrium tiding him over but they were skirting lyrium addiction and Anders could not leave him for more than a few days at most. It was uncomfortable for Fenris to wait too long as it was, a journey without Fenris would be out of the question as the lyrium potions could only be used so frequently and a journey from Kirkwall with him would raise too many questions.

It was hardly normal for them to be so civil as it was, scurrying off to have adventures together was not going to slip by their friends unnoticed. If Hawke wasn’t so fragile from losing Leandra and indeed the rest of his family then Anders would have appreciated the man’s help but… it would only hurt him to know Fenris’ situation was so dire.

But as time wore on and no solution presented itself Anders was starting to weigh the very real possibility that Fenris might… that the elf could…

Anders was fairly certain them wanting to respect Hawke’s grieving did not extend to hiding one of them slowly dying from him. Anders swore he wouldn't let it happen but they couldn't go on like this, Anders was exhausted and Fenris was becoming unbearable at being tied to another mage. It wasn't doing either of them any good but what other choice did they have? Anders wasn't going to let the grumpy bastard die.

Lost in his turbulent thoughts, as if stewing them over might reveal a solution, Anders shuffled to Fenris’ mansion to attend to him again when a frantic hand grabbed his arm.

Templars, his mind panicked, causing Justice to stir within him. He hadn't exactly been subtle of late and hurrying through Hightown - right by the Chantry - with his staff practically holding him up after a long day of healing may not have been his brightest idea.

“Anders!” A familiar voice gasped with relief and awe. “Maker, it is you!”

Anders turned with wide eyes because he knew that voice, and it shouldn’t be here. It belonged far away, in a different life - a different Anders. “D-Delilah?” He squinted at the woman as if he couldn't quite see her, because surely she couldn't be here, before his mouth dropped open in shock.

Her own face was a picture of shock and such gratitude it twinged at Anders’ gut with something that felt very much like guilt. It was easier to pretend he didn’t hurt anyone by disappearing when he wasn't looking at them. “Oh, Maker, you’re alive!” Delilah shook her head before pulling him in for a hug that he awkwardly returned, her body shuddering in shaky, tired sobs as he patted her back and wondered just how difficult it was going to be to get her not to tell the Warden Commander about this.

“Yeah, um, surprise? What are you doing here?” He wondered if perhaps the Wardens had found him and he was going to be unceremoniously dragged back to his duty. Justice murmured in disapproval at this. Friends they might be but they had a cause and Justice would not be delayed. Anders did the mental equivalent of flipping Justice the bird as he tried to comfort the frantic woman. There was nothing good coming of Delilah being here, this far from home, but whatever it was Anders already knew he would help.

“I’m here for Nathaniel!” She took a deep breath and composed herself but she still had an iron grip on Anders like he might vanish and she looked to be out of options. “He came here on Warden business, he’s to have been back weeks ago, I can’t sit idle and worry, I have to find him… but I…” She trailed off and Anders looked at her. At her fine dress and her small satchel bag. At her soft skin, softer smile and her lack of even a dagger on her hip. 

He did not doubt for a moment that Delilah would go chasing after Nathaniel if she thought that she might save him. Anders couldn't let her risk herself like that.

“Nathaniel is here?” Anders winced as yet more of his past caught up with him, but any thoughts of Nathaniel taking them back to Vigil’s Keep were overtaken by his own worries. Justice hummed in agreement in the back of his mind at the mention of the spirit’s friend. “Delilah, why was Nathaniel here?” It was already decided that they were going after Nathaniel, now he just needed a destination.

“The Wardens wouldn’t tell me anything! That elf, the angry one, she slipped me a location in the Deep Roads that Nathaniel was supposed to be visiting but it seems large and treacherous, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. The elf… she seemed as worried as I am.” Delilah drew back her hands to rummage in her pack for a map, crumpled and well thumbed, that she pressed into Anders’ hands. “I don’t think I’ll survive the Deep Roads, Anders, please… please bring him back to me.”

Anders clasped his hand over hers as they cupped the map and he nodded seriously, sparing a thought for Velanna and thanking her for defying her ‘shem’ superiors to save one shem she could actually stand to be around. “I will, Delilah, I will.” She crumpled into him and Anders wondered if she had even slept since coming here, frantic to find her brother after losing so much of her family already. “It’s okay, come with me… I have a friend. He will help.” His voice slipped into his bedside manner as he soothed her, arms around her as he guided her to Hawke’s house and prayed Hawke was there.

The idea of willingly going back to the Deep Roads did not sit well with Anders at all, and yet he could not leave Nathaniel to that fate. Nathaniel was irritatingly punctual and for him to be so overdue… it did not bare thinking about. His own fears of being discovered alive took a backseat to saving his friend and for once Justice was in agreement with him.

Anders looked to the other direction, where he had been heading to Fenris’ house, and wondered if he could slip away for a little while to attend to the elf.

He did not bother to knock on Hawke’s door, bustling in with over familiarity that scandalised Delilah until Bodahn beamed at him cheerily.

“Good morning, messere! Messere Hawke is in the library,” Bodahn greeted with an inclination of his head.

“Thank you, Bodahn.” Anders nodded back but did not stop as he headed straight for the door to the parlour and library, leaving Delilah to trail after him warily as Anders left the door wide open for her.

Anders called up the stairs. “Hawke?!”

There was a thud and a moan of pain before a pitiful, “Ow,” reached him.

There was a clatter of what Anders could only guess at before Hawke appeared at the top of the stairs and smiled at them widely, like he hadn’t swore so many different times that Delilah was fighting a laugh and Anders rolling his eyes.

“Anders! What can I do for you?”

“Hawke, this is Delilah Howe. She’s… um, well…” Anders rubbed at his neck. “Sister to one of my fellow Wardens from Vigil’s Keep.” He breathed out in a rush.

Hawke’s face lit up like it was his birthday. “No… You must have so many awfully embarrassing stories about Anders, please… tell me everything.” Hawke, for a hulking brute of a man, instantly ingratiated himself to Delilah with his boyish smile and teasing of Anders.

“Of course, Champion. And maybe you can tell me how a dead man comes to be close friends with the Champion of Kirkwall?”

Anders pinched his brow. “Ha ha, yes, lets all poke fun at Anders. Weren’t you looking for Nathaniel? Once we find him the pair of you can scurry off back to Amaranthine and never breathe a word of this to anyone, okay?”

“Nathaniel?” Hawke repeated.

Delilah smiled sadly. “My brother, he… he is missing. I have come to find him. But I… the Deep Roads, I…”

Hawke’s eyes snapped to Anders. “Are you… are you asking to go into the Deep Roads?”

“Hawke, I will strangle you and make it look like an accident.”

Delilah gave a soft laugh and Hawke winked at her, and just like that it was agreed. They were going to the Deep Roads to find Nathaniel. Hawke, for all the awful jokes and the truly horrifying bad luck he had, was always there for them. When his friends or family needed him, they had but to ask and Hawke would drop everything to move Thedas itself for them. He reminded Anders of the Warden Commander sometimes, the loyalty he inspired so similar.

Hawke insisted that Delilah give up her room at the frightful inn in Lowtown that made the Hanged Man look clean, because he couldn't very well go adventuring and leave Orana, Bodahn and Sandal all alone, could he? The logic of his statement was flawed but Delilah appreciated the sentiment and Anders didn't have to make any excuses when he left, already late to see Fenris and mind heavier with even more troubles as he clutched the pouch on his hip full of yet more lyrium vials for Fenris.

“Now, who shall we bring…”

Hawke tapped his chin and Anders, paused in the doorway, blurted out, “Fenris.”

Hawke crudely wiggled a finger in his ear. “I’m sorry, I must have been knocked harder than we thought by the Arishok; I could have sworn you said Fenris.”

“Aveline can’t leave Kirkwall for that length of time, she’s the Guard Captain.” Anders sniffed and as Hawke opened his mouth he stepped through the front door and slammed it loudly.

He wasn't a rogue, stealthing about and lying didn't come all that easy. Humour to cover his insecurities, that’s about as far as it went. Anders wondered if Fenris was going to forgive him for the teasing that was bound to come for the next however long they spent traipsing around the Deep Roads.

But Anders couldn’t leave Fenris.

Nathaniel might be able to get them more information, certainly he had access to more helpful sources.

He was going to save the hateful elf bastard if it was the last thing he did.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [StormDragon.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDragon/pseuds/StormDragon)

Orange skies greeted Anders when he finally escaped Hawke’s estate, the man had kept on insisting that Anders join him for a proper meal. Saying no was made even more difficult when he looked at Anders with pleading eyes; Anders refused to call them puppy dog eyes. While Anders wasn’t happy about delaying his visit to Fenris, staying wasn’t an entire waste as Hawke and he managed to decide when to leave for the Deep Roads and made a rough estimate on how much supplies they might need.

Anders sighed as he made his way to Fenris’ manor, while cursing and thanking Hawke for being a bit overbearing when it came to his companion’s health. He let himself into the dilapidated manor and knocked on the door to Fenris’ room. “Fenris, it’s me.”

He heard the clink of empty bottles hitting each other before the door swung open. “Mage,” the elf grunted and returned to his seat, grabbing the bottle of wine on the table.

“Don’t you think you’ve drank enough?” Anders frowned, gesturing to the empty bottles that surrounded the elf’s chair.

Fenris pursed his lips, studying the mage before eventually setting the bottle back on the table. “Fine, but I did not drink them all today," he mumbled.

“Alright, I believe you.” Anders smiled, it pleased him to know Fenris was cutting down on the drinking. The elf still had a habit of not cleaning up after himself but that was a problem for another time.

Anders pushed aside some of the empty bottles and knelt down beside Fenris’ chair. “Are you ready?” he asked as he placed his hand on Fenris’ arm. Fenris nodded and closed his eyes as Anders’ magic seeped into his body. Even as the edges of Anders’ vision started to blur, he continued to send his magic into the lyrium brands. Stopping only when Fenris’ hand gently removed the mage’s hands from his arm.

“That is enough, mage. Else I fear you will faint again.”

Anders blinked, wondering if he had imaged Fenris’ teasing tone. “I am fine.” Anders pushed himself up. He wobbled unsteady and braced himself on Fenris' chair to keep from toppling over. Fenris huffed in amusement and led the mage to his bed. “You don’t need to treat me like a delicate flower," Anders complained but allowed Fenris to lead him to the bed, only lying down because Fenris pushed him and not because he was tired.

“Worry not, I know more than anyone how…capable you are.” Fenris sat down beside the mage. “However I believe you need to learn your limits.”

“Excuse me?” Anders propped himself up on his elbows to properly glare at the elf.

Fenris raised a placating hand. “I mean no insult, but how many times have you fainted healing another? You admitted once to have forgone sleep to tend to the sick and injured.”

“I know what I am doing, I wouldn’t be much of a healer if I didn’t.” The mage huffed, rolling his eyes. “How are your markings?”

“They are fine," Fenris answered, deciding not to push the mage, at least for now.

“That’s good, since we might be leaving for the Deep Roads soon.” Seeing as Anders did volunteer the warrior, it was only fair that he inform him. Anders sat up, wringing his fingers as he continued. “A warden friend of mine might be lost in the Deep Roads. He’s an experienced Warden and he’s been through worse things, so I know he can handle himself but I can’t help but worry a little.” Anders winced as he realized that he was starting to babble.

Fenris laid his hand on Anders’ shoulder and nodded. “We will find your friend.”

* * *

 

They left for the Deep Roads that very same day, just before the sun disappeared from the horizon. Hawke and Varric lead the way, with Fenris and Anders trailing behind the two. Occasional fights with the local wildlife and bandits broke the monotonous journey toward the entryway.

When they had arrived at their destination, Anders took the lead with Delilah’s maps in hand. It was then that Anders started to share a few stories of his Warden friend. The smile on the mage’s face and the fondness in his voice when he spoke of the man made something inside Fenris churn unpleasantly. Fenris shook his head and pushed it aside, reminding himself to focus on their surroundings. Anders' Warden senses would only warn them about Darkspawn, and not of spiders or demons or whatever else chose to lurk in the Deep Roads.

It was a few days, perhaps, before they spotted a man wearing the Warden colors fighting a small group of Darkspawn. Anders was the first to join the battle, sending a bolt of lightning to take out the Darkspawn closest to the archer without harming the man.

Fenris dashed forward and used his momentum to cut down two hurlocks as well as a genlock that charged at him. His brands tingled as Hawke’s and Anders’ magic filled the cavern, killing the weaker spawn and weakening the stronger ones. Making them easy targets for the warrior and the two archers.

Once all the Darkspawn were dealt with the Warden Nathaniel expressed his gratitude and surprise at seeing Anders. But refused to leave the Deep Roads without looking for his companions.

Anders walked beside Nathaniel, chatting with man as they traced the Warden’s path back to where his expedition had been ambushed. Fenris felt that irksome feeling resurface as he watched the two, and again he pushed it aside, chiding himself for feeling such a thing. Of course the mage would choose to walk beside Nathaniel, no doubt the two had a lot of catching up to do.

But Fenris couldn’t help but miss the companionship he had with the mage. Whenever Hawke had taken them both, Anders would walk by his side, sometimes babbling and other times ask about his markings.

* * *

 

“Alright, I shan’t regale you with anymore of my stories.” Anders chuckled as Nathaniel sighed in relief. “Will you be telling the Commander about seeing me here?”

Nathaniel nodded. “Yes. I see no reason to lie to the Commander.”

Anders gave the rogue a sheepish grin. “Is there anything I could do to convince you not to tell?” He sighed when it became clear Nathaniel wouldn’t lie. “I can’t go back, there are things here that I need to do and people I need to help.” He glanced briefly at Fenris who followed behind him and Nathaniel.

“Anders, the Commander knows you live.”

Shocked, Anders' steps faltered then realization came to him. “So Stroud told…”

“No, Stroud is a man of his word and kept your secret. But the Wardens with him did not promise to keep your secret," the rogue clarified. “Regardless, the Commander has said to leave you be.”

Anders swallowed the lump in his throat. “The Commander said that?”

“The exact words were, ‘There is no Blight and Anders has more than earnt time to clear his bucket list'." A small smile appeared on Nathaniel’s lips as he watched Anders’ reaction. “The Warden said it was only fair given you had spent years living in a tower.”

“Oh…” Anders was speechless, he had expected to have to argue with Nathaniel or something to keep the man from dragging him back to the keep. But this… He couldn’t help but feel grateful as he thought about the Warden, who listened to him. Not just his jokes, but also his frustrations with Chantry and the Circle.

“I-… please tell the Commander I am grateful.”

Nathaniel nodded. “I will.”

“And before I get anymore choked up with emotion and forget," the mage quipped, “I have a favor to ask of you. I need your and possibly the Commander’s help in getting information about lyrium markings.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [WarriorMaggie.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie)

“So this is where you’re living now,” Nathaniel said as he took in the worn cots, scarred tables, tattered blankets, and carefully stored vials of potions. “It’s about like what the infirmary at the Vigil looked like when you first took it over. Remember?”

“I remember a room that held two cots, powdered elfroot, and one very cranky old man who seemed to think leeches were the way to go,” Anders quipped, settling himself on one of his cots. “Jameson, yes? That was his name. Old codger could bandage like a champ, but I always worried about leaving the more dangerously wounded around him. The words hand washing hadn’t quite hit his vocabulary.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “You’re doing good work here. Refugees, the poor…I can see why the Commander would be alright with leaving you be. He’s sorry, you know. About what happened.”

“I am too.” Anders gazed down at his hands. “Justice and I…we never meant…” He blew out a breath. “What we wanted and what we got are two separate things, Nate. I fear that our friend is no more.”

“You came to look for me, didn’t you?” Nathaniel gazed around the clinic. “The Anders I remember was a smart-mouthed brat who spent more time spouting off than listening, but who could be trusted in a pinch and always had our backs.”

Anders’ lips twitched. “Why Nathaniel Howe, that’s positively adorable. Do you sweet talk many or are you still set on glowering?”

Nathaniel glowered, making Anders chuckle. Another moment and they were both chuckling. “So what is it you need help with? I’m assuming it has to do with the rather broody elf that was trailing behind us?”

Anders’ smile softened slightly and then he sighed, rubbing a thumb up the bridge of his nose. “His markings are lyrium, put there by his former master. They’ve become unstable and are killing him.”

Nathaniel stared at Anders, eyes unblinking, and then said, “Shit.”

“That’s my take on it. I can keep them stable, but it’s risky. They absorb magic like a bandage. He just…if the templars every figured out what he could do they could suck every mage in the Gallows dry.” That thought made Anders frown.

“He’s a friend?” Nathaniel tilted his head.

“Ah…or something.” Anders felt the blush a second before it hit. It deepened when Nathaniel noticed and raised an eyebrow. “I’m not blind. He’s quite handsome, yes. And distrustful of magic and thinks I’m an abomination.”

“You do have a tendency to come on rather strong…and annoying.” The quip was more for form, the words said with a slight frown. “We should bring him to the Vigil.”

“You want me to tell Fenris that he should get on a ship to Ferelden with me so that we can what…go bother the Commander?” Anders waved his arms. “He’ll probably pull my liver out just for thinking it.”

“Can he do that?”

“Yes!”

Nathaniel pondered that. “I don’t know what to tell you. The Commander is going to want to either talk to Avernus or…you know…Him.”

“Oh, it gets better. Hey Fenris, want to come with me on a trip to Ferelden so that you can either be poked by Avernus, the insane blood mage Warden, or be poked by the Architect, a talking mage darkspawn who accidentally started the last blight. I mean, I know the Architect likes blood and is creepier than a broodmother, but hey…he’s also really good at experiments.” Anders had stood and was pacing. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

“Why not allow me to make my own decision?” The raspy voice came from the doorway. Anders skidded to a stop and gaped at Fenris. “It is, after all, my life. My body. Or will you take that from me?”

“Fenris…” Anders closed his mouth. “I’m sorry…I…”

“You think I would rather die?” Fenris moved further into the room. “That I would forget all the work you have done to save me?”

“I just didn’t think…”

“Which is fairly common," Fenris finished.

“He makes a point, Anders.” Nathaniel held up his hands. “I’m just pointing out that you have a tendency to leap first and think second. Note Justice.”

That made Anders’ face screw up. “I would have asked, Fenris.”

“You may ask me now, then.” Fenris had finished moving into the clinic, and Anders realized the elf had stopped practically in his personal space.

“Ah. Fenris. Would you be willing to go with Nathaniel and I to Ferelden to talk to the Warden Commander? He has contacts with…people…that may know more about your problem.” Anders tried for a smile.

“This blood mage, Avernus, or the talking darkspawn. Do they really talk?” Fenris watched as panic flared over Anders’ face.

“Er…some of them. We killed most of the talking ones.” Anders glanced at Nathaniel.

“Still just the Architect down there. He’s a special one. The Commander felt he was due some time to make up for his mistake of starting the last Blight.” Nathaniel rubbed his chin.

“How do you accidentally start a Blight?” Fenris wondered.

Anders opened his mouth and closed it, shaking his head while Nathaniel grumbled about the only darkspawn to ever screw up the world due to good intentions. Another moment of griping and Anders gently touched Fenris’ shoulder. “So?”

“It is either this or just…what. Wait?” Fenris met Anders’ gaze and held it. “Just wait for my body to give out?”

“Yes.” The word was whispered.

“Then I will take my chances in Ferelden. If I am to die, I wish it to be as a freeman would - knowing I have tried everything. And you will be with me?”

“The entire time. I swear it.” Anders squeezed Fenris’ shoulder.

“Then we should tell Hawke and begin packing. I do not think I can wait too much longer.” Fenris met the fear in Anders’ eyes with a steady look and a small smile.

“You both will be welcome at the Vigil,” Nathaniel said as he jumped up. “Our ship leaves day after tomorrow. Anders, it’ll be good having you back around.”

“This isn’t permanent, Nate.”

“I know. But maybe you can pick up your blasted cat while you’re there. He keeps shedding on my pants.” Nate headed to the clinic doors.

Anders’ smile blossomed, eyes filling with excitement. “Hear that Fenris? Pounce is there!”

Fenris simply shook his head. “Do you really think they can help?”

“I hope so. I truly hope so,” Anders said, face falling. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if the Commander couldn’t find a fix. Watching Fenris fade away seemed to make something in Anders’ chest shift and throb. A tiny bloom of pain that he didn’t want to think about…not yet. Not until he knew if they could save the broody elf or not.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [DashingApostate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate).

The sun shone high above the Waking Sea, casting a shimmering light down on the horizon where small dots bobbed in the distance and sea birds called from above. It was entirely picturesque, and some might call it a calm, relaxing scene; ideal, even.

Anders was not one of those people.

“Two whole bloody weeks of this,” Anders mumbled sullenly as he leaned his full weight on the ship’s railing, staring resolutely down at the treacherous waters below.

They had set out from Kirkwall just a few hours ago, and already Anders was feeling the agonizing affects that being out to sea brought upon him. Seven years ago he had made this same journey, and seven years ago he distinctly remembered swearing in many colorful ways to both the Maker and his bride that he would never set foot on another ship so long as he lived.

If he squinted, he could just barely make out the dot on the horizon that was Kirkwall. Hawke had been there to see them off, bringing each of their companions along for an extended farewell and promises to keep safe and return. The other mage had not been pleased in the slightest with their announcement to leave with such short notice, but had been placated with the promise of their swift return.

Of course, it helped that Anders and Fenris had agreed it was best not tell the Champion of Kirkwall the full extent of Fenris’ dire situation.

“You are unwell.”

Anders cut his eyes in Fenris’ direction at his right, looking first to his markings out of habit to take in their current condition before deeming them stable.

“I am not fond of…traveling by sea," Anders said, letting himself lean the slightest bit closer to Fenris when the ship seemed to shift under his boots. For…stability, of course. Not because he trusted the warrior to catch him should he fall or anything ridiculous like that.

“Will this be a problem for you the entire journey?”

Anders let out a long breath. “It’ll come and go.” He observed the ease with which the warrior balanced on the ship’s deck with his arms casually crossed. “You seem rather at home on the water.”

Fenris shrugged one of his spiky shoulders. “Danarius took many trips out of Minrathous by boat.”

Anders felt a familiar jump in his chest upon hearing the Magister’s name, always a bit surprised whenever Fenris shared any details of his life with him. He chewed at his lower lip for a moment before offering him a crooked smile.

“I suppose Captain Isabela has a first mate lined up whenever she gets herself a new ship.”

Fenris snorted, meeting his eyes with a smile of his own which caused Anders to swallow a bit too loudly, his face heating because Fenris’ smile was so damn mesmerizing and maybe he was having trouble thinking of anything clever to say –

“Is a battle-mage Grey Warden so easily defeated by sea-sickness, Anders?”

Anders pulled away from Fenris as Nathaniel settled on his other side.

“I see the years haven’t done much to manifest a personality for you," Anders quipped, irritated with Nate for no real reason other than him interrupting a rare moment of camaraderie between himself and Fenris that didn’t involve one of them being injured or near unconscious.

“And I see that you’re still under the false impression that you’re funny," Nathaniel countered, and despite his irritation, Anders found himself chuckling in response.

It was cut short when he noticed Fenris turn from them.

“I’m going to have a look around.”

Anders’ face fell as the warrior strode away, and he looked up to find Nathaniel watching him.

“I thought you said you two didn’t get along.”

“We don’t, usually,” Anders said after settling his full weight back against the railing. “We have…many disagreements.”

“You are easy to disagree with.”

Anders pulled a face, but Nathaniel just shrugged with a hint of a smile.

“He hates mages," Anders told him flatly. “I’d say that sums up most of our disagreements. Or, all of them rather, seeing as I am a mage. Not really room for compromise.”

Nathaniel nodded, his gaze trained forward along the cloudy horizon. “Given his current situation, I can see he has his reasons for his prejudices.”

Anders frowned, a familiar argument rising in him, but he pushed it back. Justice seemed to pace restlessly at the back of his mind with a want to correct Nathaniel, but Anders managed to keep him reined in.

"You said your little group in Kirkwall is like a family,” Nate offered when Anders had nothing to say. “Maybe that makes you the exception.”

“He already has an exception,” Anders muttered almost petulantly, thinking of Hawke. “I doubt very much that he has room for two of those.” Not to mention Fenris had made it clear long ago that he thought of Anders as an abomination.

“Well,” Nathaniel said slowly after a thoughtful pause. “He clearly trusts you. Coming with you back to Ferelden chasing after some unclear solution. He’s practically placing himself in your care. And it sounds like he has been for a while now.”

“Only because he has to,” Anders readily pointed out. “Believe me, if he had any other choice – “

“I haven’t heard any complaints about your company from him.”

Anders closed his mouth slowly, pondering this. He wasn’t unaware that things between him and Fenris had become considerably more civil since he began his little quest to help the other man with his markings. But even still, that didn’t necessarily negate the first seven years of their interactions…

“I suppose lately things have been different,” Anders admitted. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together and…”

And with Danarius dead, perhaps Fenris could finally begin to move on and grow into his freedom.

If he survives this. Anders felt his stomach clench at that unwanted thought, doing his best to brush it off but being unable to pretend the possibility wasn’t a very real one. He was a healer after all. He had to be prepared for…

Anders nearly jumped when Nathaniel brought his hand up to firmly clasp his shoulder. Looking over, he was surprised to see the reassuring smile on his usually somber friend’s face. He felt an old pull of companionship that came with being a part of something as substantial and connecting as the Wardens; and it brought on a nostalgia that both comforted and saddened him.

“Fenris still has a fighting chance, Anders. He’s a strong warrior, I’ve witnessed as much – and as stubborn as you’ve ever been, which is saying something.”

Anders couldn’t help but return his friend’s smile, and relaxed against the railing once again after having noticeably tensed a moment before.

Nathaniel let his hand drop. “Not to mention you’ll have the Commander at your disposal. If anyone can find you an answer – it’s him.”

Anders found himself nodding in agreement, a familiar hope rising in him. And it managed to brush away some of the endless, nagging worry that had plagued him for the past weeks; ever since first collapsing into Fenris’ arms.

* * *

 

Fenris made a cursory circle of the ship before coming to a stop at the upper deck where the bowsprit pointed out toward Ferelden, not bothering to acknowledge that it was directly opposite of where he had left Anders and Nathaniel Howe to talk at the ship’s back.

He couldn’t fathom these sparks of feeling that kept churning within him at the sight of Anders interacting so familiarly with all these people he had known before even Hawke. Anders had spent seven years in Kirkwall. And maybe Fenris didn’t know any extensive details regarding the mage’s past and his time with the Wardens, but he was fairly certain he had been in their company for far shorter a time.

Yet he had seemed to be entirely at ease around these Wardens; especially the archer and his sister.

Even his dem – spirit – seemed more…relaxed somehow. Fenris had been surprised to see it surface more than a few times to speak with Nathaniel Howe directly. Though he had noticed that the archer tended to come out of their conversations looking more grim than usual.

Fenris managed to push aside any fleeting questions that rose at the back of his mind about whether or not Nathaniel Howe and Anders were previously lovers. That was none of his business – and it didn’t matter.

He let himself dwell on other thoughts instead, like how Anders was going to handle returning to his old life, to the Wardens and Amaranthine.

Anders claimed that his companions in Kirkwall were like a family; but were they really? To him and his spirit? Or were the Wardens closer to such a title even after all these years?

He had witnessed Anders and Nathaniel get into some disagreements, even insult each other. But it was…different from how he and Anders interacted. It was without the underlying hostility that backed his and Anders’ words during one of their frequent arguments.

Arguments that always left Fenris’ blood hot in his veins long after, and with an under current of anger that surfaced whenever he looked the abomination’s way.

Or rather…

That he used to experience.

Now when he looked at Anders he felt--

Fenris shifted in his spot at the railing of the ship, leaning some of his weight on one of his hips and losing the fight not to scowl down at the murky dark waters of the Waking Sea.

He felt grateful. Gratitude. That was all. Not…anything else.

Anders was a healer, and Fenris was his patient.

Fenris was scowling down at the water so intently that he could make out the quicksilver flashes of fish gliding along underneath and alongside the ship, unable to fathom why such a technical way of viewing his and Anders’ relationship bothered him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by EmotionalMorphine.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning for emetophobia.**

“Ughh…”

Anders clung to the bucket he had so graciously been given by a smirking Nathaniel. His stomach churned along with the stormy sea; it seemed to rise and fall in time with the ship with every crested wave. The storm had come up slowly and the Captain had decided to sail through, much to Anders’ consternation. He would have preferred a few extra days at sea compared to a night heaving into a bucket.

The ship rose with the swell and Anders groaned.

He heard light footsteps in the dark of the room but didn’t look up, fearing that if he so much as angled his head he would bring up his stomach once again.

The cot depressed beside him and a cool cloth touched his neck, droplets of water running down his back. Anders closed his eyes, trying to let the cool soothe him.

“It seems unwise for you to travel by sea,” Fenris said. His voice wavered, unsure. It was hard to show his gratitude; the Mage was going through this for him, after all.

“These things must be done,” Anders said and promptly regretted it. His stomach lurched and he couldn’t hold back the urge to empty what little he had in his gut. He hurled into the bucket, nothing more than water and bile coming up. He groaned in frustration. He felt so silly, clutching at a bucket in a darkened room, wanting to cry out of sheer vexation.

Fenris reached out and Anders jumped at the feel of fingers around his wrist. Fenris’ hand was cool and Anders could feel the lyrium pull at him upon contact. Fenris pressed his fingers into a spot below his wrist, holding tight enough to cause a point of pain.

“What–”

“Quiet. It helps. When I first traveled at Danarius’ side I found myself experiencing the effects of seasickness. Another slave showed me this before I could disappoint my…Master.”

Anders dared to look up, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. Fenris was watching him, his eyes reflective in the dark room, a faint glow from his lyrium markings lighting his skin. Anders tried for a grateful smile but he wasn’t sure he managed it.

Much to his surprise the roiling of his stomach…eased. There was no magic that could ease nausea like this, and potions were hard to keep down when your stomach brought up even water, but the simple press of Fenris’ fingers was helping. Anders could have cried in relief. His whole body sagged as though his strings had been cut from above. He had been holding himself so still and rigid his body ached in protest.

There was silence in the room save for the crash of the waves beyond the hull and the combined sound of their breaths.

“I’m sorry it has come to this,” Fenris said finally. The silence hadn’t been awkward but the words had sat on his tongue. Anders was doing this for him, putting himself through pain chasing a cure that might not be. It was hard to believe the Mage, who he argued with so frequently, would go through this just for him. But he didn’t understand much of what Anders did; he helped the poor and sick for no gain, put himself in the direct line of fire to help other mages escape the Gallows, followed Hawke on his adventures and into danger. He was an apostate mage on the run, he should be lying low and keeping his nose clean, not flouting his position to those he sought to escape.

And now he was returning to the Wardens, who, by his own admissions, would likely punish him for his desertion in some way, even if the Commander had agreed with Anders’ cause. The Commander might decide Anders’ unapproved leave had come to an end with his return to Amaranthine.

Fenris wasn’t sure how to feel. There was a heavy weight in his chest. Guilt. He did not like the idea of someone doing so much for him. Especially someone he professed to hate.

Anders wiped his forehead, pushing sleek bangs away from his face and rubbing the sweat from his skin onto the sleeve of his coat. He set the bucket on the floor but close at hand. “I’m not going to let you… I won’t…” Anders pressed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re not going to die. Not while I can do something about it.”

“And if you cannot?”

Anders huffed. “You’re not going to die.” Whether he said it to placate Fenris or himself, he wasn’t sure.

Anders jumped again when he felt Fenris’ thumb swipe back and forth over the skin of his wrist. His skin tingled and he met Fenris’ eyes, confusion and a small stirring of something in his stomach that thankfully was not nausea.

“I thank you,” Fenris said, his voice low, even more unsure of himself. The Mage was not a friend but he found the idea of leaving him…distasteful. Whatever small found family he had in Kirkwall, the Mage was part of it whether he had wanted it or not.

* * *

  

When the seas stilled and the skies cleared Anders could finally make his way out onto the deck and into the fresh air. He felt stale having spent the past three days in the bowels of the ship, holding a bucket like it was a lover. Fenris and Nathaniel had kept him hydrated but otherwise let him sleep as much as possible. Anders had often woken to the feeling of Fenris’ fingers against his wrist, the nausea and dizziness dissipating.

“It lives another day,” Nathaniel said, pushing himself up away from the railing.

Anders stretched, trying to ease the ache in his back and filling his lungs with the fresh air. The ocean was almost a welcome sight this calm and flat. “I feel as though I was run over by an angry Bronto.”

“It may have left you looking better,” Nathaniel said.

Anders laughed. “I’ll have you know this is how I usually look.”

“Whatever happened to the vain and precious Anders who strutted about, flirting with every pretty thing he saw?"

Anders leaned against the railing. That was a long time ago. He wasn’t even sure if he had ever been that man. The type who worried about his appearance, looked at his reflection in passing windows, and wanted nothing more than a good meal and a pretty girl. "Justice and I have bigger concerns.”

Nathaniel frowned. He leaned his hip against the railing and looked at Anders. “If we had known what you were going to do…”

“It wasn’t exactly like we planned it to happen as it did. Once again a Templar forced my hand. I still bear the scar.”

“The Commander would not–”

“The Commander was not there.” A faint blue glow tinged his eyes, Justice surging forward in his mind.

Nathaniel snapped his mouth shut and looked out over the ocean, arms crossed tight across his chest.

Anders had often thought of what might have happened had he and Justice never merged. Likely he would be dead and Justice…gone. Kristoff’s body could not have housed the spirit much longer. The Commander would have returned to the news of their respective deaths. He wouldn’t have been able to save them.

“Your melding with Justice has not done either of you well.”

“There is no going back. And with Justice I can give the mages a chance. I can help them, Nathaniel. That’s worth something.”

“Yet you have dropped it all for the elf.”

Anders tightened his fingers on the railing. He had. And he would do it again. Even if he could not save Fenris…it was right to try. Justice would have it no other way. And he… Anders swallowed the lump in his throat. He would not let Fenris slip away so easily. Not when there was more he could do to help.

“You both pretend to dislike the other. Is your bickering anything more than habit?” Nathaniel asked.

“He seems determined to argue with me whenever possible.” But there were often times when they spoke without anger and bitterness. Fenris was amenable enough to invite Anders along to play cards in his mansion and spent his time with him like…a friend. At least a companion. Someone he could stomach in small doses when surrounded by others who kept their arguing to a minimum. Hawke hated when they argued and they often stayed silent for his sake. But over time it had become less difficult to remain civil.

Seven years he had known Fenris. They had likely argued about everything twice over. When had the arguments lost their heat?

“I am an annoyance to him. He would be better off without me in his circle but he is forced to stand my presence.”

Nathaniel quirked a smile and ducked his head. “Or he believes he should hate you on principle and is unsure why he does not,” he said.

Anders scoffed. “I highly doubt that. Still, it would be nice not to argue with him over everything. He’s funny…sometimes. And witty. And–” Anders bit his lip. He didn’t need to admit to Nathaniel that maybe he wanted to be Fenris’ friend and often enjoyed their time together. The bastard was too smug about this anyway, as though he saw something Anders could not. But Anders knew Fenris and the elf was very clear about his feelings towards Anders. There was nothing more under the surface.

“You’re comfortable in Kirkwall.”

Anders nodded. “I am. Hawke is… Hawke is something. You would need to meet him to understand. He is like the Commander - a force of nature. And he found us all and brought us together. Like family.”

Nathaniel cast his gaze downwards towards the ocean. Talking about family to him was likely not the best way to go if Anders wished their conversation to stay pleasant.

“I was happy with the Wardens, you know. Sure, you have to travel the Deep Roads a little too often, and darkspawn blood is almost impossible to get out of your clothes, but we had that, too. A family. Even with cranky people like you or Velanna.”

“You could have come back.”

It wasn’t like Anders hadn’t thought about it. Often he wondered if returning to Amaranthine would be the right thing to do. He could gain the Commander’s help for his cause. And once Karl… After Karl, he could have left Kirkwall. But he had stayed for Hawke, the mages, his little found family of busty pirates, Chantry brothers, and blood mages.

“Once this is done, we are going back to Kirkwall,” Anders said, resolute.

“Is there nothing that could convince you to stay?” Nathaniel asked.

“I don’t think so. This is…it’s what I want. It’s what Justice demands. I can’t ignore that.”

Nathaniel looked across the ship’s deck and saw Fenris stalking towards them. His lips quirked at the angry scowl on the elf’s face. “What if Fenris had to stay?”

Anders opened his mouth but then closed it. His brows furrowed. If Fenris had to stay with the Wardens, would he really just leave him there? Fenris wasn’t exactly good at making friends. He would be alone. He found himself staring at Fenris as he approached.

“There is food waiting in our quarters,” Fenris said. He stepped closer to Anders than he did Nathaniel, placing himself between them.

“I hope it’s better than dried fish because that is awfully hard to keep down when you already feel ill,” Anders said.

Fenris reached out and took his wrist. It was almost like habit. He pressed down on the pressure point and Anders smiled at him. Honestly he wasn’t feeling quite so ill anymore but Fenris was actually helping him and he didn’t want to scare him off. If this was a turning point in their relationship then Anders welcomed it. He rather liked not arguing with Fenris every time they spoke.

“You know how to take good care of a mage,” Nathaniel said.

Fenris instantly bristled, his back hunched and muscles tightening. Anders scowled at Nathaniel and shook his head slightly.

Nathaniel plowed on. “You must have attended to your Master well. It’s appreciated to have someone look after Anders. He cannot always look after himself.”

Fenris pulled his hand away and Anders frowned as the warm, tingling touch left him.

“I will be in our quarters,” Fenris said. He turned and hurried away, looking as though he was trying to make himself as small as possible.

“What was that in aid of?” Anders asked. He folded his arms and frowned at Nathaniel.

“Your friend is jealous,” Nathaniel said with a slight chuckle. “Have you not noticed?”

Anders raised an eyebrow. Jealous? “Of what? He has nothing to be jealous about. We don’t even like– We aren’t friends.”

“Yet he is jealous of our camaraderie. I believe he wishes for it himself.”

“He doesn’t like me, Nathaniel. I’m a mage. That’s enough.”

“And yet every time we are together he interrupts. Have you not noticed?”

Anders hadn’t noticed anything. Fenris was just…Fenris. He did strange things sometimes and his moods often swung wildly. Just because he did one thing today did not mean it would be any different tomorrow.

“I can understand why he may have changed his mind about you. …you’re a good person, Anders. Even though you sometimes do monumentally stupid things, it’s always for a good reason. I think he can see that. He speaks of you…fondly. Exasperated, but care is there.”

Anders looked towards the steps that lead down into the hull. He just couldn’t imagine Fenris being jealous of Nate. He couldn’t imagine Fenris being jealous of anyone.

“You are doing a good thing for him. I don’t think Fenris will forget that so easily,” Nathaniel continued.

“I hope not,” Anders murmured. If he could do this for Fenris, perhaps he would come to realise Anders wasn’t the evil magister abomination Fenris thought he was.

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” Nathaniel asked. He gave Anders a sly grin.

“He is,” Anders said wistfully and then stood straight, realising what he had said. He clamped his mouth shut, feeling the heat across his cheeks. Nathaniel smirked at him.

Anders turned away in a huff. “I’m going to have supper. You stop being so…so…full of yourself,” he said. He marched away quickly, ignoring Nathaniel’s quiet laughter.

He had only admitted a truth. He had eyes, he wasn’t blind. Fenris was an attractive man. He could admit that.

But thinking about it caused the heat on his cheeks to rise and he smothered his face with his hands and groaned.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [Akaiba](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiba/pseuds/Akaiba).

It was unfair how the thought had clung to Anders' mind as he went after Fenris to their cabin. It wormed its way into his mind and it settled there; present and demanding as Anders was forced to turn every moment he could recall over in his mind and wonder if there was any truth to Nathaniel’s teasing.

There couldn’t be. But Anders could not let go of the thought.

He pushed open the door to their cabin, more of a cupboard with a bunkbed in, and found Fenris glaring at their supper on the small table like it had personally offended him.

Anders looked over to the plate and his stomach twisted in warning at the idea of it as his suspicions were confirmed. More dried fish. That explained Fenris’ less than happy look at least. Anders was always relieved when it wasn’t his fault. As common as arguments were between them, he didn’t always feel up for them.

“This is ridiculous,” Anders bemoaned, closing the cabin door and standing over their supper like he could change it by sheer will. “I suppose this is Nathaniel’s form of a punishment, I did fake my death after all…” He sighed and snagged both their plates before handing one to Fenris that elf looked at in alarmed disdain but did not take. “Fenris, come on.” Fenris took the stale, unrisen flatbread from beside the fish but refused the plate again. “Hey!”

“Leave it, mage.” Fenris scowled, picking at the bread.

“I know you don’t like fish, I’m not much of a fan at this point, but you didn’t eat it last night either and you’re going to make yourself unwell if you don’t eat something more than bread.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose and it should not have been cute but Anders couldn’t help studying him a little differently. Maker take Nathaniel and his insidious words, Anders would wring his neck for this. “I am not a child, mage, stop your fussing.”

“No, but you are my patient.” Anders wiggled the plate a little. “Now healer says ‘eat’.”

Fenris glared up at Anders. “I do not take orders from mages.”

Anders refused to rise to that blatant attempt to derail the conversation with an argument, but his jaw did tighten. “Then call it a firm recommendation from the man already invested in your well being.” He wiggled the plate again and Fenris, huffing like an agitated bronto, snatched the plate from his grasp and glared hatefully down at the plate of salted fish meat.

As Fenris had settled on the lower bunk, Anders took the rickety little stool by the small table and chewed his food until he was certain his stomach would not hurl it back at him in revenge. Fenris was taking much smaller bites and looked miserable with the contents of his mouth. Anders thought he was allowed to find that funny, it suited their relationship that he would find Fenris’ petulance amusing, but that he also found it somewhat endearing was…

…all Nathaniel’s fault. That had to be it. Nathaniel had put the idea into his head and now he was simply examining Fenris for things that weren’t there. Of course they weren’t there. The only exception to Fenris’ anti-mage rule was Hawke and Fenris had always made it clear that Anders was as monstrous as a blood mage for the ‘demon’ he harboured.

Slim, warm fingers curled over his wrist and Anders jumped as his pressure point was pressed firmly. His head turned and he met Fenris’ gaze as he saw the elf reaching to touch him.

“You looked unwell,” Fenris said by means of an explanation. Did he seem unsure? Hesitant? Anders hated that he was looking for more now. Fenris’ touch was gentle, his fingers roughened by callouses, but he was trying so hard to help.

He gave Fenris a small smile as the fingers retreated. “Thank you.”

“It is no trouble.” Fenris picked at his food again, nose wrinkling as he ate some more and Anders chuckled. Green eyes snapped up to his at the sound.

“What? You look like a wet cat when you eat that stuff.” Anders’ grin widened. “You really hate fish, huh?”

“I would rather eat Hawke’s Nug Surprise stew.”

Anders’ eyebrows snapped up. “Wow. Point taken, I’ll see if I can’t sweet talk Nathaniel into giving you something nicer. No sense punishing you for something I did.”

Fenris’ eyes narrowed and he dropped them to the plate again. “No. It is fine. Do not trouble yourself.” Jealousy? Or Fenris not wanting to be further in Anders’ debt, as Fenris saw it?

Anders cursed Nathaniel to the Black City and back again but the idea had taken root and he was presented with a chance to poke at it. Justice grumbled in the back of his mind that this was pointless and did not aid in Fenris’ recovery or their cause so they should stop, but Anders reasoned if they found reason to drop the matter then Anders could let the notion go entirely. Which he would, because Nathaniel was a gossiping washerwoman and Anders was going to slip powdered rashvine into his smalls drawer.

“It’s no trouble, I am sure I could persuade him. Nathaniel is… an old friend.” He paused, lingering a little to see if he couldn’t aggravate Fenris a little. He seemed the jealous type and even if Anders felt a fool for thinking Fenris would ever get jealous over him, his heart was beating hard and he had to wonder if perhaps he was a little too taken with the idea that Fenris might not hate him.

Fenris grumbled. “So you have said.” He pointed at Anders’ half empty plate. “Mage, eat.”

Disinterested. Bored, even. Nathaniel was a filthy liar and a schemer, rogue to the core. Anders hated more so the fact that having Fenris so thoroughly disprove the notion hadn’t rid Anders of the want of it. He felt like a teenager again, desperately trying to catch Karl’s eye and forever making a fool of himself. He resolutely put the notion to bed and figured that it would eventually fade. Besides, if it did not Fenris could always thoroughly disabuse him of the idea.

Anders shoved the last of his bread into his mouth and swallowed without much chewing, turning to look at Fenris as the elf pushed his fish around his plate. “How are you feeling? Can I check your brands?”

Clinical and professional. That was what Anders had to remember here, he was aiding a patient and foolish ideas of romance or otherwise were…

A waste of time.

Yes, Anders thought, thank you Justice.

“They ache but the lyrium potions have helped,” Fenris admitted.

Anders hummed thoughtfully. “Let’s try and keep the potions to a minimum, okay? Not like Templars aren’t proof that you shouldn’t use them for long, ever, but I’m right here and I’m not doing much but heave my lunch into a bucket at the moment so let me use my magic when I can.”

Fenris set his plate aside, still most of his fish on it but Anders let that battle go for the day. “You will stop before you faint.” It was not a question and Anders could see how having to deal with a collapsed mage was not on Fenris’ list of things to do today.

It was difficult to explain to Fenris how it wasn’t always an option, so he just nodded. “I will try.” That Fenris’ brands were like molasses that he plunged his hands into, only sucking him deeper as he pulled away, was becoming an issue. But better than Fenris developing a lyrium addiction on top of everything else.

Fenris nodded to himself and stiffly lay down on the bunk. It had been an understatement to say they ached to Anders, they had felt like lead all day and the lyrium he had drank only muted it for a small while. It did not compare to Anders’ healing but Fenris could not ask it of him, yet when offered he had leapt at the chance. Anders sat on the bed beside him, head ducked awkwardly under the upper bunk.

It felt too close, the already cramped space of their cabin pressed even closer now. Anders could count the lashes on the elf’s eyes if he wanted to but he firmly kept his eyes on the swirls of lyrium. Fenris had said they ached and he almost never admitted that, Anders had to work it out from the hunched posture and limped walk. If he was admitting it then Anders could safely assume it was much worse than what Fenris grudgingly confessed.

“I’m just going to try a little at first,” Anders said softly, lifting his hand over Fenris’ chest and feeling the call of the fade under Fenris’ skin.

Barely a trickle of magic stirred between them before Anders felt as though something had hooked into him.

His mind seared and he felt as though he were being drained. Not akin to a Templar’s smite but as though he were casting and not stopping. Fenris said something, his name maybe, but Anders could not hear it. He tried to stop but the mana was being pulled from him faster and his vision started to blur. Justice snarled incoherently within Anders, the intoxicating rush of the fade that beckoned them both even as it burned like fire under his skin.

He cried out as blackness took him and he fell forwards onto Fenris, unconscious, the fade thrumming in his ears and wrung dry of his magic.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [StormDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDragon/pseuds/StormDragon).

“Anders!” he cried out, catching the mage in his arms.

“Anders? Are you alright?” he asked, frowning when Anders did not reply or stir. He gently shook the mage, stopping when Anders let out a pained whimper and curled into himself. It became all to clear to the elf that Anders was still in pain.

He looked over the mage’s body, for the source of Anders’ pain but found no physical sign of injury. Then it occurred to Fenris that something must have gone horribly wrong while Anders was healing him. He reviewed the past few minutes in his head, trying to find what had been different from the previous sessions. It did not take him long to realize what had been different.

Minutes before Anders screamed, Fenris had felt a sudden surge of magic coursing though him. While the sudden onslaught of magic hadn’t hurt Fenris, it may have had a terrible backlash on Anders and thus caused the man to pass out.

Fenris was still trying to piece together what had happened when Nathaniel Howe barged into their room, his hand poised over the hilt of his dagger. But seeing the elf’s distress, his hand fell away from the hilt and he approached them. “What happened?” Nathaniel asked, taking a seat on their bed and carefully taking the unconscious mage from the elf.

A distant part of Fenris wanted to turn away from Howe, but he knew he had no right to push the man away. He was Anders’ friend and he clearly cared about Anders’ well being. “I do not know. He had been healing me.” He gestured to his markings once Anders was safe in the rogue’s arms.

Nathaniel brushed aside errant blond locks and Fenris couldn’t help but notice how much more at ease Anders was in Nathaniel’s arms. “Does it often end like this?”

“No, he had fainted on my bed often but he never said anything about it hurting him.” But now that Nathaniel had asked it, Fenris couldn’t help but wonder if Anders had merely been hiding the pain from him. It wouldn’t surprise Fenris if he was; the mage was too much of bleeding heart for his own good.

He cursed himself for not paying enough attention to the mage, instead he had been to eager to feel the pleasant relief the mage’s healing brought him.

Fenris looked up to Nathaniel when the man laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be alright. Anders has pulled through worse.”

The elf nodded in reply as his eyes fell to Anders’ sleeping form, he reached out touching the mage’s cheek. But the moment he did Anders whimpered and shied away from his touch. In that moment he had felt the cooling touch of Anders magic, and his eyes widened in horror as the elf snatched his hand back.

It seemed the lyrium was now actively draining the mage’s mana.

* * *

 

After the discovery, Fenris could only watch as Nathaniel carried Anders into a separate room to keep Anders safe from him. Fenris didn’t think he could hate himself anymore than he did at that moment. Once again he has caused harm to someone who did nothing but help him.

At least Anders still drew breath, unlike the Fog warriors, and so long as Fenris lived he would ensure that it stayed that way.

He spent the majority of his time hovering outside Anders’ room, watching the mage and hoping he would wake. But alas, as the ship finally docked in Amaranthine and finally Vigil’s Keep, Anders still remained asleep.

In the keep’s main hall, they found the Warden Commander waiting for them.

The Commander quirked his brow as he looked at Anders still sleeping in Nathaniel’s arms. “Rough trip?”

“It is a long story, Commander. And it is also not mine to tell,” Nathaniel replied, pointedly looking at Fenris’ direction. “Now if I maybe excused, I’ll take Anders to his room while you two introduce yourselves.”

The Commander nodded and Nathaniel left them alone. “I am Daylen Amell, and you are one of Anders’ new friends?” He held his hand out to shake Fenris’ own. “Care to tell me the gist of what happened to Anders?”

“I am Fenris.” Fenris nodded and stopped himself from shaking Amell’s hand. He looked at the lyrium embedded into his hand and let it fall back to his side. “Anders had been helping manage my condition, but it seems to have gotten worse.” While Fenris drank one of Anders’ lyrium potions before they had left the ship, he could already feel the pain from his markings becoming less and less bearable. “When I touched him, I felt my markings draining him of his mana.”

Amell tilted his head, curiously looking at Fenris’ tattoo’s. “I can’t say I have heard of anything like that before.” He hummed and raised his hand. “May I see?” Fenris nodded, bracing himself as the Commander touched his shoulder. But he felt nothing.

Fenris gave Amell a confused look, while Amell was lost in his own thoughts then touched the exposed skin on Fenris’ arm. The instant Amell’s hand touched his skin, he felt heat running through his veins. it wasn’t painful but it felt as though Fenris was in a sauna. And when Amell pulled away, Fenris’ markings felt more bearable.

“Well your certainly the envy of every templar,” the Commander said, shaking his hand as if he had been burnt by the contact. Perhaps he was. “Come with me, I’ll take you to where you’ll be staying and maybe you can tell me more about your condition on the way.”

Fenris had hesitated to tell the Commander anything, but he recalled how Anders would call the Commander his friend. Thus he slowly started telling Amell everything, leaving out anything he felt wasn’t needed and too personal.

* * *

 

Initially Fenris’ room had been located far from Anders to avoid Fenris bumping into any mage warden. But as it became clear that the elf would be spending most, if not all his time, near or in Anders’ room, Amell had them both moved into a much larger room with two beds, so Fenris would actually sleep on a bed as opposed to on a chair by Anders’ bedside.

On the third day of their arrival, Fenris could no longer stand being unable to touch Anders and took a pair of leather gloves from the Wardens’ armory.

And on the fifth day, Fenris woke up to see amber eyes looking quizzically at their joined hands.

“Why are you wearing gloves?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [WarriorMaggie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie).

“The way I see it, we have two options.” Amell was leaning back against his desk, heavy gaze resting on Fenris. “We go to Avernus or we track down the Architect.” He ignored the pained sounds coming from Anders and continued. “Obviously, Avernus is the easier of the two choices - he never leaves his tower. The Architect must be contacted. Then it’s a lovely trip to the Deep Roads. Luckily, I have my healer back…”

Anders’ groan was loud enough to drown out Amell. “This is not a permanent visit, Amell.”

Amell’s lips twitched. “Not the time for this conversation. So which is it, Fenris?”

Fenris was frowning, his entire body held stiffly back against the chair he sat in. “Tell me of them. I cannot make a decision until I know what my options are.”

“Fair. Avernus is a blood mage - an old one. He sundered the veil at a Warden keep during a rebellion. Somehow he lived through the fighting and holed himself up in the keep doing experiments on his fellow Wardens and whatever poor sods he could get his hands on - till he met me.” Amell gave a tight smile. “Now he works for me. He’s under guard - mainly to keep him from sundering the veil again.”

Anders’ contribution was a snort and a muttered, “He’s a dodgy old codger with more intelligence than sense.”

Ignoring Anders, Amell continued, “The Architect is…well. How do I put this? He’s an awakened darkspawn mage who can think and speak. He’s frighteningly brilliant, very knowledgeable about rare magic, and inadvertently started the last Blight.”

“We should have killed him.” Anders glared at Amell, who waved his hand.

“He’s useful. A tool for the Wardens.”

“He’s dangerous and liable to turn on us at any time.” Anders glanced at Fenris. “But that is an old argument. Fenris…are you alright?”

“No.” Fenris was pale, his normally dark skin ashy with shock. Wide eyes stared at Amell with a mixture of panic and anger. “My choices are a mage who has experimented on others and sundered the veil or a darkspawn mage who started a blight?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Amell had the decency to look sheepish. “It is a shit choice.”

“Where do you think my problems stem from?” Fenris roared as he stood, arms held out. The lyrium pulsed weakly against his ashen skin. “It was a blood mage who did this to me. Who turned me into this…this…abomination. This monster that can drain power simply through touch. Who can…” He closed his eyes, mouth working soundlessly. “And you wish me to decide between two who would do the same thing to others if they could?”

Anders stood and approached Fenris slowly. “Fenris…it’s our only options. It’s this or you die.”

“Would that be so terrible?” Fenris slumped, limply falling back into his chair. “My entire existence is a farce. Die a free man or die under the yoke of slavery? I would take death as a free man. My choice. My decision.”

Anders fell to his knees, head tilting forward to rest against Fenris’ thigh. Amell watched the two of them, Fenris’ gloved hand hesitating before touching burnished gold hair, Anders’ shoulders shaking as sobs were held back.

“I’ll give you two a moment. For what it’s worth, Fenris, I am sorry. And I do wish to help.” Amell strode to his office door. “Sometimes life throws us shit choices. I know that and so does Anders. We both faced a decision similar to yours, and we both choose to keep fighting. Ask Anders about how he was made a Warden sometime.”

Fenris glanced up at Amell. “How were you?”

Amell’s face grew grim, eyes glimmering. “I thought I was doing the right thing and betrayed a friend. He’s dead now, and I am stuck here - free but not. It’s one of the great truths I learned while dealing with the blight. Freedom is what you make of it. We all wear shackles of one kind or another.”

Fenris watched Amell walk out the door, his words washing away the last vestiges of anger. Looked down at Anders, he sighed. “Mage.”

“I can’t,” Anders whispered. “I can’t just let you die.”

“Why not?” Leather covered fingers threaded through hair that Fenris knew was soft, smooth and silky.

“Not when I…not when…” The words caught in Anders’ throat. “I do not hate you.”

“And I do not hate you, mage. No matter how much you irritate me.” Fenris chuckled dryly.

“Do not make me watch you fade away. Not until we know for certain that is the only choice. I’m not ready to…to let you go.” Anders looked up into Fenris’ face, eyes red from tears. “There’s still a chance…”

“Who would you trust?” Fenris blinked as the words left his lips.

“Truthfully? Neither of them.” Anders sat back and scrubbed at his face. “Avernus is dangerous. What humanity he once had has been eaten away by blood magic and age. But he’s more predictable than the Architect. How can we trust an agent of the blight? Plus, he’s also a blood mage.”

Fenris pursed his lips, a thoughtful look forming on his face. “What choice would you make?”

“I’d talk to both of them. I wouldn’t let them touch me till I knew what my options were.” Anders pulled his hair tie free and raked a hand through his now-loose hair. “I would gather as much information as possible.”

“Do I have that kind of time? Be honest, Anders.” Fenris’ eyes gleamed.

“If Amell helps, then yes. I can’t keep your markings stable by myself, but he is very powerful. Between the two of us and Justice, we can keep you alive.” Anders didn’t even pause to consider.

“Then I wish to speak to both of them. I will make my decision and you and Amell will abide by it.” Fenris’ voice was firm.

Anders let his hands fall to his sides and then nodded. “I will abide by your wishes, Fenris.” A small smile curled up his face. “Though I don’t promise to not argue with you.”

“Fair enough.” Fenris jutted his chin out, nodding at the door. “Go get Amell. We have much to plan.”

Anders rolled his eyes, but stood. He stopped right at the door. “I’m sorry your decisions are so difficult.”

“What decision did you make, Anders? When you joined the Wardens, what was your choice?” Fenris was watching him, green eyes glittering.

“Return to the Circle and death by hanging, or join the Wardens and face death from the blight. There is no cure for blight sickness, Fenris. Every Warden carries it within themselves. It’s one of our secrets and how we are able to fight the darkspawn. My decision was death at the hands of the templar or death in the deep roads.” Anders’ jaw clenched. “I chose the Wardens, even when Amell would have let me slip free, because death with the illusion of freedom was better than death in chains.”

Fenris watched him slip out of the door, for once bereft of anything to say to the mage.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [DashingApostate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate/pseuds/DashingApostate).

The very next day saw Anders and Fenris packed and ready for their journey. They stood side by side at the front of the Vigil, waiting for Amell and whoever the Warden Commander chose to accompany them.

Jostling his pack on his shoulder, Anders watched as Fenris pulled a vial of lyrium from one of his belt pouches, which made his lips draw down in a frown. He had noticed the warrior taking one earlier that morning when they had met with Velanna and Sigrun in the Main Hall for a spot of breakfast. A breakfast the neither Anders nor Fenris had eaten much of, nerves seeming to get the best of their hunger.

As Fenris went to uncork the bottle, Anders couldn’t help but worry over just how often the other man had reached for the substance while he himself was unconscious and unable to manage the markings with his magic.

He reached toward the elf without thinking, but Justice stilled their hand before he could touch Fenris.

“How many of those have you taken?” Anders asked instead, letting his hand fall to his side, fingers curling as the tendrils of healing magic that had come forward automatically receded back inside of him.

Fenris looked exhausted, turning to him. “Today?”

“Since we arrived at the Vigil,” Anders clarified patiently.

Fenris shrugged, shaking his head. “I…have not been keeping track.”

Anders grimaced. That was not a good sign, to say the least. He wanted to tell the other man to go easy on them, unsure of whether or not an addiction and dependency were likely to develop in someone whose body was infused with the raw substance itself. In someone other than Fenris, with the rate he with which he had been downing the potions, it would have likely already set in.

The doors to the Keep opened before Anders could pry, and Amell was quick to meet them, looking every bit as prepared for this oncoming adventure as he ever was in full Warden armor.

“Commander, before we leave." Anders motioned to Fenris. “As you know, I’ve been managing his markings, but now that they’ve become so unstable…I was hoping we could try lending power at the same time.”

“We’ve a few days journey ahead of us, I think it best if we try something," Amell agreed after a cursory look at Fenris’ faded tattoos.

“I think between the two of us, we can manage not to lose consciousness,” Anders said wryly, eyes moving over the dimmed lines of lyrium in Fenris’ ashen skin.

Amell nodded, setting himself opposite Anders on Fenris’ other side. “Let’s start this slowly, though. You were out for quite some time the last time you did this, and I doubt Fenris can lose much more time if either of us were to become incapacitated.”

Fenris appeared to grow uncomfortable at this. “Then perhaps we should not risk it. The lyrium potions could – “

“This will sustain you for far longer,” Amell pointed out before Anders could voice his own concerns. “And with the trips we’re looking to make, you’ll need a good boost from two powerful mages to make it through.

Fenris’ jaw clenched, but he nodded slowly. “You have my thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Anders said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

Fenris searched his face, and Anders felt his cheek heat, remembering how he had broken down in front of Fenris the night before.

Thankfully, Amell pulled their attention back to him as he lifted his hand. “Let’s do this at the count of three, just the smallest bit of pressure.”

Anders nodded, lifting one of his own hands to mirror Amell. “Right, then. One, two…”

“Three,” Amell finished softly, and they laid their hands down on opposite sides of Fenris’ body.

Anders’ fingers rested lightly on the exposed skin of elf’s left arm, and he immediately felt the familiar effects of the markings sucking him in, draining his mana at a rapid pace, though it was far more steady than last time, and he managed to remain in control of it. Beside him, he heard Amell draw in a sharp breath, and before long Justice shot their free hand out, gripping Amell’s wrist and dragging it away at the same moment he removed their own hand from Fenris’ skin.

Anders and Amell each took some steps back, and Anders fought to remain standing as the edges of his vision blurred with tunneled black.

Anders could see that Fenris’ markings were blazing brightly, and when the elf took a step in his direction and reached a gloved hand out to steady him, Anders could see color and warm had returned a bit to his skin.

“Better?” Anders asked when his vision had cleared, resisting the urge to lean in to Fenris’ touch.

Fenris nodded slowly, asking in a soft, insistent voice. “Are you alright?”

Anders nodded as well with a small smile, feeling foolishly pleased once again about Fenris’ freely given touch, something that showed just how far they had come.

“Well, that was…an experience,” Amell said, rubbing his temples. “I now have a rather powerful urge to sleep for four days straight.” He nodded to Fenris. “But you are looking much better, which is reassuring.”

Anders laughed. “I’m sure getting a dose of the Hero of Feleden’s magic would make anyone perk up, wouldn’t it?”

Fenris grunted, but said nothing as Nathaniel and Velanna strode into view, a line of horses being led behind them as they walked.

“I’ve a delivery for you Anders,” Nathaniel called, motioning to a massive chestnut mare. “From my sister, as thanks for aiding her in Kirkwall.”

Anders followed the motion of Nathaniel’s hand, eyes widening. “Delilah got a me a horse? What in Andraste’s socks am I supposed to do with the beast when I return to Kirkwall?”

Nathaniel shook his head, a knowing smile growing at the corners of his mouth.

“On the horse’s back, Anders.”

Anders moved from Fenris’ side toward Nathaniel and Velanna, looking over the mare curiously. “What – “

Before he could voice his question, a small orange head poked out from behind the horse’s thick neck, and gave a loud mew, wide green eyes meeting his.

Anders nearly tripped over himself, a swell of excitement bursting in his chest as he moved to close the distance with an ungainly lack of grace or care. “Ser Pounce-a-Lot!”

He scooped the cat from the mare’s back, trying very hard not to handle the bundle of a little beast too roughly as he hugged him to his chest. “Maker’s balls but I’ve missed you," he murmured into soft, ginger fur, his heart warming when his ears were met with loud rumbling purrs from his old, cherished friend.

Taking a moment to hold Pounce out at arms-length and look him over, Anders missed the conversations going on around him.

“Looks like we’ve both gotten on in years, old friend,” he said jokingly to the cat as he settled Pounce back against his chest again. Ser Pounce-a-Lot meowed as he dug his claws lightly into Anders’ robes, moving to nuzzle his throat and purr appreciatively.

“I take it we’ll be riding these?” Anders heard Fenris’ deep voice ask, looking up to see the other man eyeing the nearest gelding with noticeable apprehension.

“Well, they are quite a bit faster than walking,” Anders said, scratching at Pounce’s soft fur as the cat continued to bump his head under Anders’ chin. “And seeing as we’re fresh out of griffons and all…”

Fenris’ eyes moved in his direction, and the warrior glanced between him and Pounce with an odd expression on his face and something that almost resembled smile before turning back to the horses.

“Have you never ridden horse then, Fenris?” Nathaniel asked thoughtfully, ignoring Anders’ quip.

“If I have, I do not remember it,” Fenris answered simply, his voice flat.

Anders himself had only ridden horses a hand full of times in his adulthood, but it was still more experience than Fenris. “We could ride together, if you’d rather – ”

“No,” Amell cut in. “Fenris cannot come into contact with any mages. It would be foolish to have you two jostling around on a horse for hours at a time only to have you collapse again.”

Anders’ mouth closed, knowing full well that Amell was right, but being unable to quell a small stab of disappointment.

“If I may make a suggestion?” Came a voice that Anders did not recognize, and he followed the swivel of everyone’s heads in the direction of the speaker. “I am no mage, and would be more than happy to accommodate such a handsome man upon my own horse.”

An elven man with shoulder-length blonde hair walked from the direction of the stables that Nathaniel and Velanna had just emerged, steering a fine black gelding by the reins and wearing a confident smile.

Fenris viewed the newcomer with open suspicion, but Amell was nodding. “Fenris, Anders, this is Zevran. He will be joining out group on the ride to Soilder’s Peak.”

Zevran gave a little bow, meeting both Anders and Fenris’ eyes with that lingering smile.

“You okay with riding with Fenris, Zev?” Amell asked, busying himself with adjusting the saddle of his own mount.

“I have many many skills,” Zevran replied with a smirk. “And _riding_ is most certainly one of them.”

Anders’ eyes widened. Nathaniel chuckled, shaking his head as Velanna rolled her eyes with a disgusted noise.

Anders had heard many tales of the Hero of Ferelden’s band of companions from his victory in the Fifth Blight, and knew the rumors surrounding Zevran the Antivan Crow often were accompanied with as many stories of his charm and charisma as they were his skill as an assassin. Clearly he had underestimated these claims.

Fenris’ brows twitched down into a scowl as Zevran approached, but Anders’ line of sight was cut off when Amell stepped before him. Something inside him twisted uncomfortably, and he had trouble concentrating on Amell’s words as the Warden Commander gave him, Velanna, and Nathaniel instructions about the route they would be taking.

When Amell finally strode away from them, moving to mount his own horse at the front of the expedition and leaving his Wardens with their orders, Anders caught a glimpse of Zevran helping hoist Fenris behind him onto the black gelding, one of his hands lingering quite unnecessarily over one of Fenris’ biceps.

And – damn Nathaniel to the Void and back for putting the bloody thoughts in his mind – even though Fenris pulled away with a glare and a snarl, even though Zevran held up his hands in a gesture of friendly apology; Anders couldn’t help the rise of something that could only be identified as _jealousy_ eating away at his insides.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [EmotionalMorphine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine).

Anders didn't have much time to feel sour about anything, their party riding at quite the clip. He wasn't the most skilled rider and keeping the beast under control was taking more concentration than he had expected. But he couldn't keep his gaze from wandering to the sleek, black gelding Zevran and Fenris rode upon. Fenris’ arms were tight around Zevran’s waist, his eyes screwed shut. He was definitely not enjoying the ride.

Something niggled inside of Anders, something that kept bringing the idea of Fenris sitting behind him, arms around _his_ waist, to the forefront of his mind. Something he should definitely _not_ be thinking about. He didn't think Fenris would appreciate Anders wondering how warm Fenris would be against his back.

Anders had heard all the stories about Zevran. Amell had regaled them with stories of his journey during the Blight over campfires and during dinner in the great hall. He had always spoke of Zevran with affection, and Anders had wondered whether there was maybe something between the two.

So after a long day riding, Anders wasn't all that surprised that Amell saw to Zevran first, fussing over the elf. Zevran waved him off but didn't at all seem to mind the attention. And maybe Anders breathed a sigh of relief when it became apparent that he was to look after Fenris. They had come this far together; Anders wasn't quite ready to give up his duty.

“How are you after the ride?” Anders asked.

Fenris stretched and his expression was pained. He didn't even notice Anders, or at least Anders didn't think he had been noticed because he was sure Fenris wouldn't be rubbing his sore rear knowing Anders was watching.

“Fenris?” Anders questioned again.

Fenris jumped. “Mage.” He crossed his arms across his chest, the tips of his ears going pink. “I didn't notice you. I, uhh…”

“Can I help with anything?” Anders blurted out. He stopped and his gaze travelled down and had he really just said that? And now he was staring at Fenris’ crotch and… He looked away, a blush travelling across his cheeks. “Never mind. Just, ah...the ride must have been uncomfortable. Not that I-! Maker. Maybe I should start again.”

Fenris was shifting from foot to foot, fingers digging into his arms, grinding his teeth. He dared to glance at Anders and Anders could see how red his cheeks were. “I am _fine_ , Mage,” Fenris said. “But I must confess that this is not my favourite form of travel.”

Anders smiled. “Surprise, mine neither. I don't know what's worse: the boat or the horse. Both seem to leave me nauseous and uncomfortable.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose. “At least you were able to suffer your ride alone.” Fenris rubbed at his arms.

“I'm sorry about this. I know you don't like...y’know, the touch thing. If there was any other way…”

“It's fine,” Fenris said through gritted teeth. It was definitely not fine. “I would like to eat and then retire. The sooner this trip it over, the happier I will be.”

There wasn't much else Anders could say. But he kept his eye on Fenris, making sure he ate and settled down for the night. Fenris seemed to take extreme efforts in avoiding Zevran, Amell, even Anders himself, twitchy and anxious. Anders couldn't blame him. At Soldier’s Peak Fenris would have to subject himself to a crazy blood mage’s curiosity. None of them knew what would happen or what Avernus might say.

The idea plagued him into the next day and the next. Fenris absolutely did not want to speak about it, dodging all of Anders’ questions and concerns. He stuck to himself, almost curled into himself as if he could shut out the world.

Zevran did not seem to understand Fenris wanted time to himself, or if he did understand, he didn’t care. It was clear Fenris did not appreciate his leering jests. Or the leering, in general. Even after spending the night in Amell’s tent, it didn’t stop Zevran from flirting with Fenris.

Anders bit his tongue but said nothing. If Fenris was uncomfortable he would say something. Or remove an internal organ. He did neither. And it wasn’t Anders’ place to say anything. Or be jealous. Not that he was jealous. He wasn’t.

He _wasn’t_.

Their party continued through the icy maze towards Soldier’s Peak. Without the Wardens for guidance, there was no doubt a traveller would get lost in the frozen gauntlet. Even Anders didn’t entirely trust his knowledge of the path - it had been over seven years, after all. Soldier’s Peak and how to get there hadn’t really been on his mind in that time.

The horses had slowed to a walk, the drifts of snow up to their calves. Their party had donned heavy cloaks and gloves. Anders pulled the furred hood around his head, trying to cover his ears from the frozen winds. The snow was falling heavily, updrafts creating frigid spirals of air and ice.

“We need to stop!” Velanna called from her horse at the front of the party. Amell drew up beside her. The path ahead was completely obscured by falling snow.

“Continuing does seem to be slightly more deadly than usual,” Zevran yelled over the howling wind.

Amell nodded and waved his arm. They had passed an outcropping of rocks not long ago; somewhere that would offer some shelter from the wind and snow where they could set up their tents and maybe keep a fire going. But even backtracking through the heavy snow took longer than expected, the horses reluctant to move and huddling together for warmth.

Anders was more than glad to slide from the saddle and get out of the wind. His horse snuffled at him and he heard Pounce meow plaintively from his pack. “We’ll get a fire going and it will be better,” he said.

Zevran was talking to Amell, huddled together near the entrance to their sheltered outcropping. Fenris was standing beside their horse, holding the reins in a gloved hand. When Anders came closer he could see quite clearly that Fenris was shaking. The heavy cloak he was wearing was drawn tight around him but…

“Fenris! You didn’t think to wear boots?” Anders dropped the reins of his own horse, knowing the beast would just huddle with the others. “Don’t you know what frostbite is? Andraste’s tits! Quick, come sit down.”

Fenris didn’t even argue, which only concerned Anders more. Anders opened his pack and Pounce hopped out. He sniffed at the snow and then looked at Anders, clearly not appreciating their new location.

Anders took out his bedroll. He brushed as much snow as he could from the ground and lay the blanket down. “Sit, Fenris. Let me see your feet.”

“I am fine,” Fenris said from between chattering teeth. He was still shivering, which was a good sign.

“Listen to your healer and sit. Please.”

Perhaps it was his pleading tone that got Fenris to sit. Whatever it was, Anders was grateful he didn’t have to argue with him further. Fenris sat and Pounce trotted over to him, happy to get his paws off the wet, cold ground. Fenris grunted but made no other sound when Pounce crawled onto his lap. Anders held his breath. Pounce meowed and sat and Fenris drew his cloak aside to encompass Pounce in it’s warmth. Anders felt something in his chest stir - something he pushed vehemently aside.

“Your feet are blue, Fenris!” Anders turned his attention to Fenris state. The elf’s delicate feet were blue and freezing cold. Anders could feel the cold through his gloves. “I can cast a heat spell--”

“You can’t,” Fenris said.

Anders frowned. Of course he couldn’t. He curled his hand into a fist. His magic was a part of him and not being able to use it, especially to heal another, was distressing. It reminded him too much of when his magic had been taken from him, a Templar’s smite closing that part of him, leaving a gaping hole where it had been. He felt a rumble from Justice inside of him; a comforting reminder that he was safe and fine.

Fenris reached down to one of his feet and rubbed at he frozen skin. Anders’ hand shot out and grabbed his, holding it still. “Don’t. That can make it worse. We have to be careful not to cause any damage.”

Fenris looked at his hand caught in Anders’. He nodded, but didn’t pull away.

“I can… I can heat some water but we don’t have anything large enough to bathe your feet in. I can… Ahah!” He had to pull his hand from Fenris’ to rummage in his pack, pulling a second blanket from inside. He focussed his energy and felt his hands heat as he slowly heated the blanket, careful not to cause a spark. The blanket felt warm and toasty to the touch and Anders carefully wrapped it around Fenris’ feet. He heard Fenris hiss and felt him twitch, as if to pull away, but Fenris stayed in place. He closed his eyes as the warmth began to seep into his flesh.

“Something the matter?” Amell asked.

Anders looked up. “Fenris neglected to wear boots.”

“I don’t like shoes…” Fenris said quietly. “They cause pain.”

Anders didn’t doubt that. The lyrium markings ran on the underside of Fenris’ feet as well and standing on them must cause enough discomfort without the added feeling of boots pushing on his feet. “You should have told me sooner.”

“What has happened, _bell'uomo_?” Zevran asked and knelt beside Fenris. His hand lingered on Fenris’ shoulder.

Anders frowned. Fenris... _was blushing_. He could see it on his skin, the faint tinge to the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Underneath the hood of the cloak, Anders had no doubt Fenris’ ears were blushing red.

Anders felt the anger rise like bile in his throat. “You spend all this time ogling him and you didn’t even notice he was freezing? He could have frostbite!”

Zevran raised an eyebrow as he regarded Anders. “Are you not his healer?”

“You were the one riding with him!” Anders snapped.

“Yet yours eyes linger as much as mine do, dear Anders,” Zevran said with a smirk.

Anders clamped his mouth shut and he looked at Fenris, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Anders could feel his heart racing in his chest. Zevran was just stirring him up. He was worried about Fenris’ well being and nothing more, despite what Nathaniel or anyone else might say. They had known each other a long time and of course he would be concerned!

“I am his healer, like you said,” Anders said, very aware that he was wringing his hands in his cloak but unable to stop himself. “Now if you please, Fenris needs to keep warm.”

“Ah, something I can help with then, yes?” Zevran asked. “Since you are unable to touch him.”

“What? No, that’s not--” Anders spluttered but Zevran had already sat down next to Fenris, sliding his arms around him. And much to Anders’ surprise, Fenris didn’t dislodge him, though it was enough to make Pounce rear up and stalk away to sit on Anders’ discarded pack, curling himself into a tight ball.

“Zevran can help keep him warm and you can heat up blankets. Use a couple of the canteens and heat up the water inside,” Amell said and placed his hand on Anders’ shoulder.

Anders didn’t at all understand. Amell clearly had something with Zevran but he let this sort of blatant flirting go on right in front of him. Shouldn’t he say something? Should _Fenris_ say something? He had seemed to hate Zevran’s flirting and now he was accepting it like he...enjoyed it!

Anders got to his feet with a huff and stalked away. If Fenris wanted to canoodle with Zevran, then so be it. Who was he to stop them?


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [Akaiba](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiba/pseuds/Akaiba).

 

“You see, my friend? How he sulks and eyes me so jealously?” Zevran’s voice was honeyed and warm - the curl of victory in his words as Fenris felt only surprise and disbelief.

Anders seemed petulant at the very least, perhaps not as fixated as Zevran had so ardently insisted on their journey, and yet Fenris could not explain the clench of his gut as anything other than anticipation. He had begun to hope Anders might…might what? He asked of himself. That this journey was teaching him so much about the mage he had never cared to ask of, that it was bringing to light how very much he did not hate Anders; did that add another meaning to their healer and patient relationship? Did any of it matter?

Fenris hummed softly before shrugging Zevran’s arm from around him. “I do not like to be touched.”

“A pity." Zevran smirked. “You are such a handsome elf - someone should be touching you, no?”

“No.”

Zevran gave an easy shrug. “And yet we find ourselves in the predicament of your needing to be warmed and my being so very warm…”

Fenris felt a shiver ripple through him and he gritted his teeth against it. It was no lie. He needed to be warmed and the moment Anders’ magic - even Amell’s - touched his skin, his lyrium sucked their mana dry.

“Skin to skin,” Zevran prompted him, none too gently either. It rankled Fenris to hear and he stiffly pushed the elf away with a yearning for familiar contact if he had to suffer any at all. And yet that was foolish. It encouraged things he could not let take root like that, no matter the games the leery Antivan played.

When this was done, one or both of them would return to Hawke. Either way, Anders would return. It was no secret how Anders admired Hawke - each of Hawke’s group could be guilty of that. Indeed, anyone who met Hawke at all.

The peculiar thought that he might be jealous - and he wasn’t sure if it was of Hawke or Anders - made him pause and set the thoughts aside. They were leading him nowhere. His skin burned and weighed him like it were stone, not simply the cold but at least this ache felt familiar. The one he had when he looked at Anders was not. He wrapped his arms around himself and grimaced only a little as Zevran curled in against his side. Apparently he would not be so easily dissuaded.

Zevran was warm but his brands ached under the shameless touch the assassin placed on Fenris’ limited bare skin. He was not familiar and Fenris found himself looking to Anders again, the longing more palatable when he explained it away as simply wanting a friend.

He missed Hawke. Fenris wondered if perhaps he might not be so ready to die if Hawke were here. The man was a force of nature and Fenris bought into the impossibility of Hawke’s charm every time - they were never going to die in the Deep Roads, nor to the Arishok or the Qunari. They were all sheltered by Hawke and he would keep them safe. They were each as much Hawke’s family as the broken family Hawke had left and to Fenris their mismatched group were the only family he had ever known. The thought was a sobering one. It itched at him and he found himself to be… homesick.

Fenris’ eyes lingered over Anders angrily warming a blanket with delicate magic and that thought of family did not waver. He wanted Hawke here out of selfish need for comfort, and yet Fenris had all he needed to keep him going. Anders would not give up, just as Hawke would not, and that gave Fenris strength enough.

“Return to your warden.” Fenris pushed at Zevran again, scowling at the smirk he garnered.

“Ah, as you intend to do the same, yes?”

Fenris refused to dignify that with a response. He staggered upright and obstinately shuffled to Anders. Whatever game Zevran seemed to want to play with him- filling his head with nonsense about Anders’ affection - Fenris did not need it. He just needed Anders. Fenris could not do this alone and Anders had never let him try, Anders was as much in this with him as Fenris had never needed to ask for him to be. Homesick he might have been; but not alone.

“Fenris?” Anders seemed surprised that Fenris had drawn close. “I was going to bring the blanket to you, you needn’t have moved.”

Fenris sat beside Anders on the bedroll, his teeth chattering and careful to keep his bared feet and arms away from Anders. “I will stay with you.” It was not so selfless as to be for Anders’ own needs, but Fenris saw that it gave as much comfort to Anders as it did to him. They both needed the comfort. Fenris wondered if Anders missed Hawke too.

The blanket was as warm as Tevinter sand when Anders placed it around his shoulders, the mage leaning closer and Fenris meeting him halfway. “It is safer for you to stay with anyone else,” Anders said softly, and yet for one moment Fenris forgot the problem of his brands and he heard the truth of the statement for the ideas Zevran had been tormenting him with all day.

“Perhaps,” Fenris admitted. “And yet we will make it work.”

His words seemed to be taken to heart, however, as Anders stole every free blanket - including his own - to construct a nest of them around Fenris. They hummed with Anders’ magic but the mage was careful not to keep the magic flowing through it before he handed it to Fenris. They simply made it work.

Sleep tugged at him but Fenris resisted it. Yet again the mage had aided him and kept him safe, and Fenris could do nothing to repay it. Anders did not even want repayment.

“Mage…” he mumbled, words slurring as the warmth seeped into his bones and made his chilled skin tingle. Fenris wriggled his toes, just to be sure he could, and tried to reach an arm free of the blankets to find Anders.

“I am here.” An arm circled Fenris waist and it settled him, the allure of sleep much easier to give in to when he had assurance he was safe. When Anders had begun to mean ‘safety’ to him, Fenris wasn’t sure.

“It hurts…”

“Your feet?”

“My brands…” Pain furrowed Fenris brow and Anders’ hold tightened reflexively. He couldn't ease that pain. “One more vial, please…”

Anders bit his lip. He had counted seven of the smaller lyrium vials when he had been able to see Fenris today, though he had seen the empty vials of two larger ones and he did not doubt there had been more. “Can you rest for me, please? Just a little first?” Anders wished he had never thought to give Fenris the lyrium potions, though he doubted they’d have made it this far without them. He would prefer Fenris sapping his mana for the rest of his life than watching him slip into lyrium poisoning or addiction, but it was a fanciful idea. Anders was, however, struck by the thought that should Fenris survive he might be stuck as the aged templars were.

Conversation slipped beyond Fenris’ tired grasp and Anders watched Fenris, the little window of the heaped cloth revealing only Fenris’ eyes and tufts of his hair. Anders saw the usual tightness around Fenris’ eyes smooth out until he was peacefully asleep and Anders could let out the breath he had held, unsure he could refuse Fenris’ pleading request another time.

He missed Hawke.

Sleep claimed Anders by surprise, the mage startled awake by the fuss of the camp in what felt like only a moment after closing his eyes. Fenris still lay curled in the blankets Anders had wrapped him in, but Amell had turned to approach and promised that would soon change.

“The storm has quietened for the moment.” His gaze flicked over Fenris, assessing the gamble they had taken by lying together despite the risk but not offering a comment. Anders could see he had an opinion, however. “We should make for the peak now, while we still can.”

Anders nodded and when he looked down to the bundle he was propped over he saw green eyes staring back at him. Pained, creased, pleasing eyes. Fenris could not even utter a cry and Anders scrambled to his bag as Amell crouched down beside him. The Warden Commander lifted Fenris by gripping the blankets as Anders tipped the vial of lyrium he had found. It’s pearly blue liquid slipped greedily down Fenris’ throat as Anders watched the brands - so sickly looking - flutter and hum softly. Not fixed, but the tension in Fenris eased a fraction.

Amell’s face was grim. “We must get him to Avernus. Now.”

Anders nodded and Zevran was there to help Fenris to stand. A spare pair of boots had been scrounged up for Fenris and with minor complaints, Fenris pulled them on. Anders could only watch as Fenris was once again settled on Zevran’s horse, his fingers itching to do something to help but with the added envy as Fenris touched Zevran without trouble.

“Mount up, Anders!” Amell ordered sharply, jarring his scowl and hurrying him to reach his horse. His foolhardy thoughts had no place. Their priority was making sure Fenris did not die. Amell led their group with the stern order. “We will make the tower by noon!”

It was not a hope; Amell would not tolerate less. The determination and the faith felt like being back with Hawke again. They would make it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [StormDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDragon/pseuds/StormDragon).

They had been arguing since they had arrived at the Keep. Anders knew Amell was right and Fenris’ situation was possibly dire, but the elf trusted him to look out for him when he couldn’t. And he knew Fenris’ stance on blood magic. Even more so when he was unconscious and unable to keep an eye on said blood mage.

Their arguing in the end was for naught as Avernus arrived at the infirmary and was brought up to speed on Fenris’ predicament. The old blood mage shook his head. “With all due respect Warden-Commander. I am not certain I can be of much help in this matter,” he said, gesturing to Fenris’ prone form on the cot. “My expertise on blood magic is limited to the taint.”

When it seemed like Amell was going to speak, Avernus held up his hand to stop the Commander from interrupting. “My knowledge of the Tevinter’s blood magic is nothing extraordinary. I abandoned learning about it after discovering how ineffective it was against the demons. Perhaps if you had some notes on how these… tattoos were made by the magister. I could help some.”

Anders sagged at the knowledge. “So that’s it? We came all this way and you can’t help us?”

“If he had been a Warden or if his situation wasn’t so dire, I could take the time to study his markings and perhaps come up with a solution.” A piteous groan interrupted the blood mage and Anders was quick to move to Fenris’ side.

Amell grabbed his arm before he could touch the elf. “Anders.”

“What? I am I just supposed to stand here and do nothing?” Anders said as he wrenched his arm out of Amell’s hold.

One of the many things they had been arguing about had been giving Fenris mana. The Commander had firmly told him not to. With Fenris’ worsening condition, there was no telling if he’d do more than drain Anders of mana or if it would help him at all. Amell could be a heartless pragmatic.

Anders felt Justice’s disagreement over his thoughts. Amell may have been pragmatic but he wasn’t heartless, he was concerned for Anders.

Anders looked away. “I just can’t…”

Amell’s gaze softened. “I know, it will all be okay. We’ve just hit a small bump.”

“I may make a suggestion.” Avernus walked up to Fenris’ cot. “Since I believe Tevinter is out of the question, you could bring him to our contact in the Deep Road or to Orzammar. There is no one who knows more about lyrium than the dwarves.”

A grin spread spread across Amell’s face and he patted Anders’ shoulder. “See, a small hiccup. I already have an idea as to who we can talk to. Just stay here and keep me posted on your lover’s condition while I go draft a letter to make sure that person is there.” And with that Amell left the infirmary with Avernus following him out shortly after.

Two minutes after Amell left, Anders’ cheeks gained a red tint as his mind finally realized Amell had referred to Fenris as his lover. He mumbled his denial as he pulled a chair closer to Fenris’ cot.

He felt useless as he watched over Fenris, every pained groan and whimper was like a stab to his own heart. But there was little he could do beyond sending waves of healing magic into the elf. But he wasn’t even able to do that, not without Fenris inevitably draining him and his passing out.

Fenris would have hated him for casting without asking permission but Anders would rather deal with an angry glowing Fenris than deal with losing him. Especially now that they weren’t at each other’s throats.

Fenris’ brows knitted together as he groaned once more. Without hesitation Anders reached into his pack and took out a lyrium potion and drank it. He could feel Justice frowning in the back of his mind.

He worried his lower lip and knew Justice was right; exhaustion would claim him quickly. He was already struggling to keep his eyes open.

A thought eventually came to his mind. Maybe he could use an aura spell, Panacea. With the number of times he had cast it, he was almost sure he could maintain it even while unconscious. It wouldn’t be as strong as a healing spell, but it wasn’t as draining.

Decision made, Anders got up and pushed a cot closer to Fenris. He lay down and then cast the spell. He smiled to himself when Fenris’ expression eased and he felt the pull at his magic, working to drain him completely.

* * *

 

When Anders awoke, the room was dark as the candles had gone out sometime in the night. But thanks to the moonlight, he could make out Fenris’ silhouette on the cot next to him.

“I’d do anything to see you wake up.”

“If I survive this, I will collect on that promise.”

Anders shot up from his bed and turned to Fenris. “You’re awake?!” A smile split Anders’ face as he gazed at the elf.

Fenris groaned and raised his hand to massage his head. “Hush, mage. My head hurts enough without your shouting.”

“I am sorry,” Anders mumbled and scooted closer. “Umm, how do you feel?”.

Fenris didn’t answer him immediately as he contemplating how much to tell Anders. “My thoughts are clearer, but my body feels stiff and my markings hurt. You need not worry, the pain is… bearable,” he said, anticipating Anders’ offer of healing. “Is this the Keep where the blood mage is?”

“Yes… but Avernus said that he couldn’t help us but Amell seems to have someone else in mind so everything will be fine.”

“And if this person cannot help me?”

“Then we’ll just keep looking or find our own way.” Anders refused to give up on Fenris.

“Could you light the a candle? I wish to see you in the light.”

It was a strange request but Anders said nothing as he relit the candles by Fenris’ cot. When he turned to face Fenris, he saw the other man looking at him intently.

Anders couldn’t help but fidget under Fenris’ gaze. “What?”

“You have freckles?”

That threw Anders off. “I- You’re probably hungry. I-I should go get you something to eat,” he said as he turned and left the infirmary.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [WarriorMaggie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie).

 

Fenris’ words plagued Anders as he looked over what food was available in the kitchen. Avernus was an old man and seemed to subsist almost entirely on a watery gruel, bread, and a very hard cheese. At least it wasn’t fish, Anders’ mind supplied, and he giggled nervously as he put bread and cheese on a plate and ladled out gruel.

Satisfied that he had enough food, he turned and headed back to the infirmary, his pace slower than his rush to the kitchen. Hope warred in his chest. Hope and determination and fear: hope that a cure could be found, determination to see this through, and fear that Fenris would die.

Anders stopped and stared at the gruel. Sometime between Kirkwall and now, Fenris had become much more than a patient. This had become more than duty, more than maybe even simple friendship. His jealousy over Zevran, his desire to feel Fenris’ touch, his terror at not finding a cure, it couldn’t be more. Could it?

Justice grumbled in his mind, a reminder that duty was greater than personal feelings. The spirit was a pointed voice of reason in the emotional tumult gripping Anders. The cacophony of thoughts stilled when he opened the door to the infirmary and found Fenris staring at him.

“It’s gruel I’m afraid,” Anders said as he carefully placed the tray next to Fenris’ bed.

“At least it’s not fish,” Fenris rasped, slowly sitting up. Anders longed to reach out and help him. He wished he could cradle Fenris close and tell him it would all be ok. Some shadow of his feelings must have shown on his face because Fenris stopped reaching for the bowl.

“Will you help me?”

Anders inhaled, his breath whistling noisily. Warmth bloomed in his chest and radiated outward in a tingling tide. Feeling his cheeks heat, Anders nodded and moved closer to Fenris, picked up the bowl, dipped a spoonful of gruel, and held it out.

Fenris leaned forward an infinitesimal amount to sip the gruel from the spoon, his gaze filled with an emotion that Anders recognized. He didn’t respond, instead dipping another spoonful and offering it to Fenris.

They managed half the bowl like that - slow spoonfuls and meaningful looks. Anders was in the process of offering another spoonful when the door opened and Amell and Zevran walked in.

“Is it wise to be that close to him?” Amell sat on what had been Anders’ bed.

“Leave the lovebirds, _mi amore._ They are cozy, yes?” Zevran sat close to Amell and cuddled against his side.

“They’re being reckless,” Amell said with a frown. “At any rate, the letter has been sent off. I don’t anticipate it being a long wait.”

“So…your contact…” Anders was rolling the spoon between his hands.

“Yes, Anders?”

“In Orzammar?” Anders put the spoon down. “Dwarves know magic?”

“She’s not in Orzammar. She’s at the Circle. I would hesitate to say that she knows more about lyrium than any other person I’ve spoken with,” Amell said with a fond smile.

“So…we’d…”

“It wouldn’t take long to reach the Circle. We’ll go the minute I receive the letter.”

Anders paled. “You want me to go with you to the Circle?”

“You can always return to the Vigil. But if you want to see this through, then yes, I do want you to go back to the Circle.” Amell stood. “I’ll let you know the moment I hear anything.”

Anders watched as Zevran stood as well. “Do not tire him out, Anders. He is still sick.”

“Andraste’s tits, go away Zevran.” Anders turned away from both men, staring down at Fenris instead. He heard footsteps and then the door closing. “The Circle…”

“You do not have to go.” Fenris reached for him and then dropped his hand. “I would understand if you didn’t.”

Anders winced and rubbed at his face. “Just don’t mention Justice around there. I don’t want one of the templars deciding I need the brand.”

Fenris was silent long enough for Anders look at him again. When their gaze met, Fenris offered a weak smile. “You have a lot of freckles. And your hair glows almost gold.” Fenris yawned and settled back. “To only notice now is annoying.”

Anders was left gaping as Fenris settled down to nap. Slowly, he reached up and touched his hair. Thoughts of the Circle spun out of his mind and were replaced with thoughts of Fenris. He stayed there and watched Fenris sleep. He wondered if it was the illness speaking or if Fenris really was starting to have a change of heart about him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [DashingApostate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DashingApostate/pseuds/DashingApostate).

There was no delay as they set out for Kinloch, and Anders was determinedly busying himself with other things rather than letting his mind wander to the implication of their inevitable destination. The very place he had done everything in his power to escape for more than a decade…

Fenris was riding with Zevran again, and Anders was pleased to see a bit of color had returned to the ashen fatigue of the elf’s features after he had cast the spell Panacea once more before they had mounted.

A small, petulant part of Anders was also pleased to see that Fenris did not seem the least bit thrilled with being near Zevran once more.

A stab of guilt ate at Anders for this. He was uncertain if it was his own or a push from Justice.

Fenris was in dire straights, he should not be pleased to see the warrior uncomfortable. Even if it did imply that Zevran’s charms were ineffectual when applied to the prickly, brooding elf.

Not that Fenris was much in the way of brooding.

Anders worried his lip between his teeth, his eyes moving over the other man.

It had become almost a habit. Checking every outward sign he could, even at a distance his eyes were drawn to him.

His dark skin was still a touch ashen, even with the spell. And his eyes, though always watchful, were dimmed, and would periodically appear unfocused. Anders could see when Fenris would shift on the mount, holding tightly to Zevran. It was not an act born of closeness, Anders knew. It was a reflexive response. Fenris was likely fading in and out of coherency.

Even as Anders chest tightened with frustration, with his want to help and his inability to do so, his eyes would linger over Fenris’ arms tucked against Zevran.

It was not intimate. But that Zevran could offer Fenris something that Anders was unable to…

Anders looked away again, knowing full well his gaze would return to the pair before long.

Yes, he was jealous. He knew that.

Yes, he was returning to Kinloch bloody Hold for even the possibility of Fenris’ recovery. A concept that was near mad to part of him, but entirely rational at the same time.

Fenris would not die. He could not allow that to happen. The very thought made him…

Anders let his eyes slip closed for a beat.

Yes, Anders admitted silently to himself, the safety of his own head allowing the thoughts to form in words he would be unable to say aloud.

He had feelings for Fenris.

His fingers tightened considerably over the hold he had on his reins at this self-admittance, and his mount tossed her head the slightest bit in reproof.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, instantly slackening his hold. He reached down to smooth a hand down the gelding’s neck in apology to calm her.

Pounce took this moment to poke himself out, claws digging lightly into Anders’ skin as the cat held his balance from around his neck.

Anders smiled softly as his friend bumped his head insistently under his jaw.

“I’m all right,” he told the cat. “Just…worried about Fenris. No need to fuss, Pounce.”

Pounce fixed with him a baleful stare, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Anders bumped his chin down lightly on the cat’s head, finding comfort in the action.

“Nervous?”

Anders straightened a bit in his saddle, and Pounce made a soft noise of annoyance at the sudden shift.

Anders was a bit surprised to see Velanna riding beside him. Her face held the faintest hint of contempt, but there was also a touch of something almost resembling…concern in her blue gaze.

“I’d be a fool not to be,” Anders answered without much thought.

Velanna nodded. “It seems unwise. Bringing you back to the shem’s mage Circle. Especially with all those Templars.”

Anders said nothing, knowing full well it was also rather unwise for her to go there as well. She may be a Grey Warden, but she was still a mage. An a highly opinionated one, at that. Her sharp tongue had gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion that he could remember, griffon insignia or not.

“You could have returned to Vigil’s Keep, you know. Your presence will not affect the outcome,” she continued.

Anders’ eyes found Fenris once again, before flicking back to Velanna. “We don’t know that. I…I would not just leave him to this.”

Velanna was regarding him with a thoughtful look. If Anders didn’t know her better he would think she was nearly smiling at him. “You’ve changed,” she said.

Anders offered her a wan smile. “Is that so surprising?”

Velanna shrugged. “Justice’s doing perhaps.” She looked suddenly serious when she asked, “Is he…well? Amell mentioned…it sounded as though…”

Anders felt a twinge of something inside of him; fury and confusion on Justice’s part, guilt on his own.

“Justice…has changed as well.”

Velanna nodded slowly. “Spirits are not meant to inhabit this side of the Veil for long.”

Anders fidgeted on his mount, and Pounce rubbed at his neck again, sensing his discomfort.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for any more lectures about my life choices,” Anders began, but Velanna waved him off.

“Don’t get yourself worked up so easily,” she said, spurring her mount forward. “Save some of your fury for the Templars.”

Anders watched her take a spot beside Nathaniel, behind Amell, and he fought down any further arguments Justice might want to bring to the surface as he stared at the three of them.

It was odd, for Justice. These people were…his friends. Before he and Anders had merged into one. They seemed to bring a reminder to the spirit, of what he had once been, and it…discomforted him.

And Anders as well.

He knew he had changed. It had been nearly a decade, was that so strange…?

But the way the others looked at him…it was noticeable. They were concerned, worried even.

Anders shook these feelings off. It hardly mattered how concerned they were. He and Justice would return to Kirkwall when this was through: with Fenris, well and breathing, if it was the last thing Anders did.

No interference from the Circle or the Wardens would not stop that.

* * *

 

The second night they made camp, Anders was awoken from a nightmare.

The thrashing had been minimal, and it was Nate’s hand on his shoulder that shook him into consciousness.

There was an unspoken understanding in the archer’s eyes, and Anders was hard pressed to face his pillow a second time for the night with the memories of darkspawn clawing fresh in his mind.

It wasn’t until he had his bedroll situated and tied to his mount that he realized Pounce was missing.

His stomach dropped, and he immediately stumbled around the camp in search of the little orange beast.

“Pounce,” he hissed in a soft tone, not wanting to wake the others. “Here kitty! Ser Pounce-a-Lot, if you’ve gone hunting and gotten yourself eaten by a bear I’ll never forgive you!”

He was poking his head around Amell’s massive horse when a flash of white caught the corner of his eye.

Anders turned to see Fenris standing an arm's-length from him, a familiar orange shape wound comfortably around the warrior’s neck.

Fenris wore a faint smile beneath his fatigue. “It would seem I had a visitor in the night.”

Anders felt a distinctive rush of emotions at the sight of both of them. It caught in his throat, and swallowed it down, returning Fenris’ smile. “You should be resting.”

“If your cat had not accosted me, perhaps I would be.”

Anders laughed. “Accosted you. He’s keeping you warm, you bloody ingrate. Probably worried about you.”

Pounce remained quite undisturbed where he was, the faintest rumble of a purr sounding from his fuzzy body.

“It seems unwise to move him,” Fenris offered in a soft tone after a stretch of silence.

Anders nodded, eyes on Pounce. “It would seem he means to keep you company in my place.”

His eyes moved back to Fenris, who was no longer smiling. His expression wasn’t closed, but it was difficult to read.

“In your place, is it?”

Anders swallowed, cheeks warming a bit.

“You know? I think it might be my watch,” Anders said hastily. “Like I said, get some rest.” He retreated to where Nate stood at the head of the camp, feeling Fenris’ eyes on him as he went.

Worse still, he could feel Pounce’s as well.

The scheming little feline was lucky he was so damn cute. And Anders knew he couldn’t stay mad at the cat for more than the span of five seconds.

Nathaniel gave him an almost sympathetic look before taking to his sleep roll, leaving Anders alone with a warmed face and jumbled thoughts.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [EmotionalMorphine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine/pseuds/emotionalmorphine).

Five days. It would be another five days to Kinloch. Anders bit at his fingernail. The days stretched longer and longer, it seemed. As if time itself wanted to war with them.

Pounce had taken up the spot on Fenris’ shoulders as they rode. It gave Anders some relief to know the cat was guarding Fenris when he could not. Every so often Pounce would meow and bump his head against Fenris’ cheek and the elf would startle. He was drifting in and out now. Anders had been watching him; watching the glazed look in Fenris’ eyes, watching the way he slumped against Zevran’s back as they rode. Pounce kept him from falling.

Anders always knew Pounce was one smart kitty.

It tore at Anders’ heart. Fenris was slipping away and they might not even make it to Kinloch. Fenris’ skin had turned such an ashen color the dim light of his lyrium markings made him look even more sickly. The hummed and throbbed in time with what Anders’ assumed was his pulse. Anders could feel the mangled song of the lyrium in his veins. And if he couldn’t, Justice was there in the back of his mind, balking at the way the lyrium song scratched around him. Anders couldn’t feel the lyrium like the spirit could but Justice made sure Anders knew just how discordant the thrum had become.

When they stopped for the night Anders and Amell placed their hands on Fenris’ bare skin. The lyrium brands flared to life and Anders gasped. The mana was sucked from his so quickly it took his breath with it, leaving a void inside of him. Zevran was there to pull them away, taking Anders’ hand first and then Amell’s. Zevran held Amell’s hand, stroking it as he whispered calming words to the Commander. Amell shook his head and let Zevran lead him away, shaky on his feet.

“Are you all right?” Fenris asked. There was no spark in his eyes, just a dullness that robbed Anders of any remaining breath.

“Yes…yes, I’m fine.” Anders felt his head swim, the edges of his vision blurring. They had given Fenris almost all they had and the lyrium markings seemed just as dull as they had moments before.

Fenris placed his gloved hand over Anders’ and squeezed his fingers.

Amell moved them faster the next day. They couldn’t push the horses too hard or they would be left without mounts, but they were running out of time. They all knew it. But no one said anything.

Fenris slipped into unconsciousness in the afternoon after a long day of riding. Zevran was able to grab him and hold him up in the saddle until Nathaniel could assist him. They had no choice but to wind a leather strap around Fenris’ chest, strapping him to Zevran and abroad the horse. Anders felt the lump in his throat rise. Bile burned at his tonsils.

“Anders…?” Fenris asked. His eyes fluttered open and he immediately reached for the strap around him with clumsy hands.

“I’m here. You blacked out. Just…just rest. We won’t let you fall.” Anders reached out but stopped himself before he could touch Fenris. It was Fenris who reached out and grabbed his hand, holding on as tight as he could. Only the glove kept them safe.

Anders had never seen Fenris scared. Not like this. He hadn’t been with Hawke when Fenris confronted his sister and Danarius. He didn’t think it would have affected him as badly back then. He cared for Fenris. Maker, he couldn’t keep denying it, but it scared him that he might lose Fenris. His chest ached and he held onto Fenris’ hand as tight as possible until they had to begin moving again.

Fenris kept his hand curled against his chest for the rest of the ride.

By evening he was out again. Nathaniel lowered Fenris from the saddle and they arranged him in his bedroll comfortably.

Anders pulled his own bedroll beside Fenris’ and no one questioned him. Amell didn’t even give him a worried look. They just left them be. Anders stared at Fenris in the dim light, the fire behind them burning hot. It would keep Fenris warm. Anders reached over and lifted Fenris’ hand. Using the blanket to stop any exposure to Fenris’ skin he managed to remove Fenris’ glove. His hands were so cold Anders could feel the chill through the blanket. He cursed under his breath and Pounce meowed at him.

“You’ve been a good boy,” Anders said to Pounce. The cat had never left Fenris’ side.

Anders slipped Fenris’ glove back on. It would keep his hands that little bit warmer. In his borrowed boots, his feet were likely fairing just the same.

* * *

 

When the sun was just starting to show the first rays of light, Anders woke to the sound of someone in pain. He bolted upright and immediately looked to Fenris. Fenris was curled in on himself tight, biting off curses and groans through his clenched teeth.

“Fenris!” Anders didn’t even hesitate. He leaned over and touched his hands to Fenris’ cheeks, forcing the elf to look at him. The mana was stripped out of him faster than he had ever felt. Without Amell there to assist, Fenris was draining him dry.

Anders didn’t care.

“Anders! Maker, you idiot!” Amell grabbed Anders and pulled him back, away from Fenris. But Anders struggled, trying to work himself out of Amell’s hold. Fenris was in pain and he needed help and Anders could give it to him.

Anders struggled but everything seemed to tip sideways. His vision blurred and he grabbed at Amell’s arms. He felt like he was falling from a great height. His stomach lurched and Amell did tip him sideways, just in time for him to empty his stomach into the dirt.

“Ridiculous,” Velanna muttered but she did place her hand on Anders’ shoulder. She knew basic healing spells and knew enough to stop the churning of his stomach.

“This can’t go on,” Nathaniel said from somewhere above Anders.

“And you have–another suggestion?” Anders asked, his sentence broken with the bile burning in his throat again.

“We cannot carry you both to Kinloch!” Nathaniel said, his voice rising as he snapped back at Anders.

Anders pulled free of Amell and Velanna. He fought to keep himself upright, swaying slightly. “If you won’t help us, then go back to the Vigil.”

Nathaniel was quiet for a moment. He shook his head. “That’s not what I mean, Anders.”

“…this is my doing,” Fenris said.

Anders spun so fast the world didn’t seem to keep up with him. He swayed again and had to lean into Amell despite wanting to distance himself from the gathered Wardens. “Fenris… Fenris, I…” His words stuck in his throat. His mouth felt dry.

“Perhaps we should ready for the day, yes?” Zevran asked. He looked pointedly at Amell.

They gave Fenris and Anders their space.

Anders shuffled closer to Fenris. Pounce butted at his hand, winding himself around Anders and Fenris both. “You are not a burden I wish not to carry,” Anders said.

“But I am a burden.”

“As I am sure I have been before. I said I would find a way to heal you, and I stand by that.”

Fenris held up his hands. They were shaking. “I am experiencing all the symptons you explained. You said that my organs will begin to fail. It will lead to death.”

“Not yet. Not yet. Fenris, you have to keep fighting this. I know you’re doing your best. But I–”

“You will not leave me?” Fenris asked.

Anders frowned. “Of course not.”

“Then I will continue on.”

* * *

 

Despite Fenris giving his best, he slipped into unconsciousness early the next morning. Anders watched him closely. They couldn’t give him any more lyrium potions with him out cold but they paused several times during the day so Fenris could pull at his and Amell’s mana reserves. Just enough to keep them all going. Anders could deal with the extra swaying and the unpleasant lurch in his stomach if it meant they gave Fenris more time.

Anders was scared. He had made it this far with an unwavering knowledge that they would make it in time. That Fenris would be healed and back to his moody self in no time. That was becoming less and less of a reality. The truth burned inside of him and several times he felt his eyes watering and tearing up. He managed to rub the tears away before they spilled, pretending it was nothing more than dust in his eyes.

Maker, he was scared. Justice hummed in his mind but Anders didn’t want to hear any of the spirit’s platitudes. What good was being a Spirit Healer if he couldn’t heal someone important to him?

Amell pushed them through the night. The tall spire of Kinloch was piercing the sky in the distance. If the horses tired, they could rest while they journeyed across the lake to the Circle tower.

Returning to the Circle hardly entered Anders’ mind. If it was something he had to do to save Fenris, he would do it gladly. He would shake his arse right in old Greagoir’s face. It was Justice that fumed in his mind, pushing closer to the forefront as they approached the lake. Cracks of the fade pressed out from his skin and Anders tried to force Justice back.

Not now. This wasn’t the time. Not now.

Justice surged to the forefront and his horse spooked, pulling at the reins and skittering sideways. Amell shouted something Anders no longer heard.

“ **Anders can not return to the Circle,** ” Justice boomed.

Amell held up his hands. “Justice. Return Anders to control.”

“ **I cannot allow this,** ” Justice said. He forced Anders’ body down from the saddle. The tavern at the lake’s edge was visible, the boatman waiting at the dock. They were almost there.

Amell frowned. “You didn’t complain about returning earlier.”

“ **Anders has kept me suppressed, so is his love for Fenris. He rages now.** ”

Amell and Nathaniel slipped from their saddles, handing the reins of their horses off to the other Wardens.

“If Anders cares so much about Fenris,” Nathaniel said, carefully ignoring the word Justice had used to describe Anders’ feelings, “then how can you fight him on this?”

“ **There is much injustice and there is still more we need to do. I cannot allow this form to be imprisoned.** ”

“That won’t happen,” Amell said firmly.

Justice reached back and took Anders’ staff from his back. “ **We cannot return,** ” he said. Justice would fight them if it so came to that.

“…Anders…?” Fenris’ voice was shaky and quiet.

Justice lurched, the staff dropping to the floor. The cracks of the Fade on Anders’ skin flickered and Anders grabbed at his head. “Fenris…” He pulled at his hair. Justice was fighting him harder than he ever had before. He looked up and saw Fenris, felt the hum of Fenris’ brands. Fenris had woken…woken because Justice had surged forth.

Anders cried out and dropped to his knees. If he let Justice keep control, they might not make it to Kinloch, but Justice’s presence might be helping Fenris. Justice was a link straight to the Fade, just like Fenris’ branding. Justice had been able to pull Karl temporarily back from the void of Tranquility, and if he could keep Fenris alive just that bit longer then wasn’t it worth it?

He looked up at Amell pleadingly. Amell was clever, a mage also, and he would understand. It was up to them to convince Justice to continue on to Kinloch.

He had never willingly given up control to Justice before.

Anders pressed his eyes closed, a tear sliding down his cheek, and gave himself to Justice.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [Akaiba](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaiba/pseuds/Akaiba).

Amell watched as Anders’ eyes flickered between brown and blue in fits, strobing like an unstable magelight. Anders sent him a pleading look and then the light flared, the fade whirling like a pull in Amell’s gut as Anders’ rose slowly to his feet.

No, not Anders.

“Justice?” Nathaniel stepped towards the glowing mage and Amell felt himself inhale sharply as Anders’ head whipped around to stare at Nathaniel.

“ **We cannot return,** " Justice repeated, but it was Anders’ voice mixed with the booming intonations Amell had not heard in so long. Justice did not step away to flee, however, and Amell got the distinct impression that all the nuances of grey he had eased Justice into understanding had been lost. Justice was not asking a question, he was stating fact. He would not enter that building, and if Amell pushed…

Fortunately, Amell didn’t feel like pushing so much as guiding. Zevran called it manipulating, but whatever got the job done was fine by him.

“You would leave Fenris to the hands of these Templars, then? Or to my mercy? Justice, I barely know the elf. As nice as he is, do you believe that you and Anders couldn’t advise him better than I can?” Amell didn’t reach for his staff but it was a close thing as Justice’s eyes landed on him. He felt that gaze like a weight and it was not a comfortable one.

Anders’ staff was still firmly in Justice’s grasp and Amell could feel the pull of the fade at the spirit’s grasp, power held like a breath that Amell did not doubt Justice would unleash if they pushed incorrectly. He was so focused on the spirit that he missed Fenris’ standing - missed him moving.

“Fenris, don’t-” Nathaniel made to grab Fenris but Justice’s stance dropped into readiness and the Wardens reached for their weapons. Nathaniel grimaced but his bow was drawn without falter, his gaze unwavering on Justice as Velanna raised her staff. Steel rang from sheathes and in the middle of it stood Justice with what seemed like the unending power of the fade leaking through Anders’ skin. Between both sides stood Fenris; unarmed.

“Hold!” Amell snarled, but his own hand was wrapped around his staff.

He watched as Fenris, shaky as a newborn foal, stepped towards Justice. He seemed as though the spirit was breathing life into him, his brands humming brighter than Amell could ever recall seeing them as the elf stood before Justice.

Justice seemed confused, but he was still and staring down at Fenris with a furrowed brow. “ **You sing.** ” He sounded awed and Amell recalled the lyrium ring he had gifted the spirit so long ago now, how Justice had spoken of the song in the precious stone as he traced the shape and looked homesick. Fenris was made of lyrium, after all. It stood to reason that the spirit would hear it there too, and it looked as though it had soothed Justice a little. Amell was still aware of the spirit’s grip on Anders’ staff however.

Fenris felt drunk, swaying in place a little as he drank in the aura the spirit gave off. He couldn’t put a finger on what it was exactly, as it wasn’t healing magic, but the closer he got to Justice the less he ached. The less he felt himself slipping. The demon was clarity and Fenris grit his teeth as every instinct in him had him recoiling, but he couldn’t - not when it was this or what he was certain was death.

“Where is Anders?” Fenris asked, his voice croaking around the words.

Justice cocked his head slowly, as though Fenris’ words were reaching him through a fog, though he looked more preoccupied by whatever he could hear in Fenris’ brands. “ **He is here. We are one. He believed I could keep you alive.** ”

Zevran circled slowly to Amell’s side and Amell was amused that he hadn’t even seen the assassin slip behind Justice, but whatever tension Justice had incited seemed eased in Fenris’ proximity. “It would appear darling Anders was correct.”

Amell sighed. “I wish he’d talk to me before pulling these stunts.” He gestured at the glowing pair. “Can you two stop… glowing at each other? It will be a bit of a give away the moment we near any Templars.” Fenris extinguished his brands with a nod but Justice seemed unhappy at the loss of them. He didn’t seemed inclined to throw Anders’ staff around though, but nor did he stop glowing. “Uh… Justice?”

“ **Anders is a powerful mage and alive. This ‘glowing’ appears to be a byproduct of my presence within him and I cannot hide it.** ” Justice lifted a hand by way of example, the cracks in the skin looking as though Anders was being split apart by the fade seeping through him. Fenris watched the hand as Justice lowered it. He couldn’t help wondering how this was impacting Anders. The mage had never sustained Justice’s presence outside of battle or distress, the demon was a well of power that Anders converged with only when he needed to. This was… unusual. He wasn’t sure how to feel about conversing with the demon even if the Wardens seemed relatively accepting. The had known Justice before, but even Fenris could see they were wary of Justice now. They had lowered their weapons, but for a moment they had been ready to cut the spirit down - in Anders’ body or not.

“Well that’s rather unhelpful.” Nathaniel was setting the arrow he’d drawn back into his quiver but he seemed relieved at having not had to fire it. “We can’t take Justice in there at all if he’s glowing like that. Explaining the lyrium Fenris has is one thing, but I’m not sure they’re going to accept that this particular possessed mage is housing a friendly spirit.”

Amell groaned as he dragged a hand down his face, turning away from where Zevran was curiously circling Justice as the spirit eyed Fenris curiously. More than once Amell caught the spirit hesitantly reaching out to touch Fenris but thinking better of it. “Then what do you suggest?” He was beginning to wonder if this fool’s errand wasn’t simply prolonging the inevitable, and all the while his soft heart was leaving Vigil’s Keep vulnerable.

Zevran pushed past Amell, startling the mage as Zevran wordlessly grasped the helmet off one of the wardens by the horses. “Might I borrow this?” he asked brightly, but he was already taking it so the question was a formality at best.

“S-sir?” The soldier looked beseechingly at Amell but Amell was watching Zevran, waving the man off as Zevran moved back to Justice.

With carefully obvious movements, Zevran lowered the helmet onto Anders’ head. The light of the mage’s face was dimmed to the thin slit of the warden issue helmet, the wings of it rising proudly to either side but otherwise shuttering the fadelight from view.

Zevran turned with a smug grin and Amell felt his face twitching up in a matching look of realization. “Warden?”

“Yessir?” The de-helmetted soldier asked with trepidation.

“I’ll be needing your armour.”

Fenris frowned as he studied the mage’s covered face. He had never seen Anders in armour and he did not think the mage was built for it, his body ill-suited for the bulk and weight of full plate mail that it seemed Amell was going to put him in. He could say nothing however as Amell guided both the fidgeting Warden and Justice behind some trees to change. The moment Justice began stepping away from him, every step fed cold and weakness back into his skin. A trickle, as though he had a leak. Stamina ebbed away with every breath until he was leaning against the side of a horse and struggling to keep his eyes focused.

It was different from when he drew from Anders’ or Amell’s mana, there was only so much to pull until either mage was wrung dry. But with Justice it seemed endless. Nothing lasting, and nothing so restorative as was needed, but like a hand wrapped around his collar keeping him afloat from the worst of it. He was still standing when they emerged from the trees again. Barely.

“ **This is… odd.** ” Justice looked down at himself, now bedecked in full plate armour, and wholly unlike the mage Fenris was used to at all.

Nathaniel’s gaze flicked up and down Justice as the spirit took firm, determined steps back towards their group. He let out a slow breath before speaking, “You… you almost look as you did when we met you in the fade.” The armour covered him entirely. Not an inch of skin was visible, the mage’s jacket gone but his layered undershirt tight between the breaks in the plate.

Amell gave a wave of his hand. “The Warden insignia is a change, but a welcome one. Zev covered his eyes with a black cloth, he can see through it but now we don’t have to worry about him glowing through the eye holes.” The commander threw a pouch of coins to the now casually dressed Warden who emerged behind Zevran. “Stay at the Spoiled Princess, if it looks like trouble in the tower then send word to Vigil’s Keep to come for us.” He nodded solemnly to Amell before departing, but Velanna and Nathaniel seemed more concerned with Justice, now that he looked more familiar to them.

But not familiar to Fenris. “The mage’s jacket?” he prompted. Fenris couldn’t say why it was important, but it did not feel as though the mage was there any more. Not with Justice filling his body and now hidden behind layers of armour. Fenris felt more himself than he had in weeks but without Anders, more alone as well.

“I thought you might want to hold it for him.” Zevran produced the clothing from behind his back with far too much flourish and smirking for Fenris’ liking. He bristled when the elf placed it around his shoulders but he did not move it. He was still feeling the chill, even with Justice close again, so he huddled into the coat before approaching the demon carefully. “Is… is Anders…” He trailed off uncertainly. It was an effort to think, more so to wrestle with common when his head felt like it was full of cotton. Fenris’ gaze slid to the Wardens readying themselves to head for the ferry, settling the horses into the stables at the inn and divvying up supplies. It was easier than looking at the stranger at his side.

“ **He is here. We are one,** ” Justice repeated as before, and the way his voice echoed in the helmet was not reassuring. The demon paused, a faint grunt of thought before he spoke again, “ **The painted elf suggested that holding your hand might assist further. Anders is insisting you would not like that.** ”

Fenris stiffened, wishing he could storm away from Justice but unwilling to move from the demon’s proximity when it eased him. “Do not touch me, demon,” he settled for warning instead.

“ **I am no demon!** ” Justice’s booming voice echoed in the clearing before the inn and Fenris bristled further.

“Fenris, stop antagonising Justice," Amell ordered as they fell into step. “Justice, no talking. I don’t care how vile and reprehensible the Templars are: you will get us all killed - do you understand?” Fenris scowled at the command but he felt Amell’s unease as he also looked to Justice with a plea to the Maker.

Justice regarded Amell for a moment, and even as the helmet blocked Anders’ face from view the demon did not express any emotions other than rage and confusion, Fenris could only guess at Justice’s thoughts. “ **Justice must be dealt.** ”

“Justice…” Nathaniel frowned, further confirming Fenris’ thoughts that this was not exactly the spirit the Wardens had known.

“ **I will… cooperate.** ” Amell nodded at the agreement but Fenris could not help but doubt Justice’s restraint. He had never known the demon to be one of tact.

The faint thought that the lyrium in his skin might sooth Justice if they did hold hands crossed his mind before Fenris promptly ignored it. He prayed that the demon would be silent however. For all their sakes, but for Anders’ mostly.

That Fenris was weakened did not matter, the tower would burn before they took Anders.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [StormDragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDragon/pseuds/StormDragon).

Fenris didn’t argue when Amell told him to lie down and rest while they waited. While he may have spent most of the journey unconscious, it hadn’t been restful thanks to the mind numbing pain of his brands.

Even now the distant pain from his brands was slowly growing stronger, even as he lay there with Justice sitting in arm’s reach of him.

Yet it wasn’t the pain that occupied his mind, instead his thoughts revolved around a certain blond mage.

There was so much he wanted to tell the mage, but his tongue was stilled by fear. A fear that he was misreading Anders’ kindness for something deeper. But Zevran had give him hope that it was something more. And the elf didn’t seem the kind who would lie and toy with his emotions.

However even if it was true and the feeling was mutual. Did it matter? They would never be able to touch and hold each other, not when his touch could hurt the mage.

Was it ironic that after years of hating Anders, resenting having to let the mage touch him for healing, he now yearned so greatly to touch Anders without harming the healer? He would even be content to simply brush his hand against Anders’ own hand.

But it was starting to look like he might never–

He turned on his side with a growl, stopping himself before he could continue his train of thought. He couldn’t think that way, it would be a disservice to the Wardens and especially Anders.

The sound of the door slamming shut brought Fenris out from his brooding and he pushed himself up to sit on the bed, leaning heavily upon the headboard.

Amell stood in front of the door, face pinched in annoyance. “Has Dagna arrived yet?”

“Not yet. A mage did show up while you were out talking with the First Enchanter, said Dagna was just fetching a few things from the basement,” Nathaniel replied. The rogue seemed relaxed, leaning against the wall beside the bed, but Fenris could see the tenseness of his frame and how his hand lingered near the dagger by his belt.

But it wasn’t just Nathaniel; they were all a little anxious. While the Templars didn’t seem to suspect Justice was more than a just simple Warden, it was clear their arrival wasn’t entirely welcomed.

“How did your talk go with the First Enchanter?” Velanna sneered her distaste for the title. She had only become more sour since entering the Circle, possibly to do with seeing the elven mages inhabiting the Circle.

Amell shook his head. “It went as well as it could have. I don’t think Greagoir has forgiven me for Finn. Not that I can blame Finn for not coming back to the Circle.”

“What fool would willingly return here.” Velanna waved dismissively as she finally took the seat in front of the dresser. She had been worried when the Templars asked Amell to follow them and told them to remain in Dagna’s room to await the dwarf.

Amell nodded in agreement and turned to Fenris, who lay on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live.” Fenris ignored the skeptical look on Amell’s face and he turned his attention to the silent form sitting by his bedside. Justice sat, arms crossed over his chest.

As Amell moved to sit on the edge of the bed, the door burst open revealing a dwarven woman carrying what seemed to be a tower of books. “Sorry for keeping you waiting but I wanted to make sure I had all the reference materials at hand.”

She dumped the books on her dresser and turned to Amell. “So tell me just how extensive this lyrium problem of yours is? Your letter was a bit vague.”

“Yes, well Zevran’s been rubbing off on me.” He chuckled and proceed to fill Dagna in on Fenris’ condition.

* * *

 

“Wow.” Dagna shook her head in disbelief and then turned to Fenris. “This isn’t anything I expected when you said you had a lyrium problem. I’m surprised you even managed to live so long with it, I mean even we dwarves can suffer lyrium poisoning if it get’s in our blood. This Danarius must have done something to keep it from-”

“Dagna please, we don’t want to resort to blood magic nor do we have the luxury of time,” Amell interrupted as gently as he could.

“I guess, we could try to remove the lyrium?” Dagna suggested with an uncertain tone. “But I can’t say what the repercussions will be, if we go that route.”

“Remove?” The idea filled Fenris with equal parts glee and apprehension. He’d be free of constant pain and it would be a last insult to Danarius, to erase his greatest source of pride. But… Fenris had never been without the lyrium markings. Would he be still be as capable a warrior without them?

There was a shift in the room, and the pain of his marking grew.

“Fenris, it’s your choice and no matter what happens, I will be with you and I will help you through it.”

Just like that the elf’s fears were silenced at the sound of Anders’ voice. He reached over and took Anders’ gauntleted hand in his own. Anders gently squeezed his reassuringly, before pulling away and Fenris felt his pain dull once more. He knew then that Anders had given back control to Justice.

He turned to the dwarf and nodded. “Do it.”

He could handle any consequence, so long as Anders was there with him. He knew without a doubt that Anders would do anything to help him, even at the cost of his own well being. And perhaps when he was finally free of his markings, he would be able to touch and hold the mage in his arms. To say and show his gratitude towards the selfless fool.

“Okay then, I’ll need to talk to Greagoir and Irving about getting the tools and some help.” A serious look graced the dwarf’s features as she mentally began listing the kinds of tools she’d need.

Before she could head out the door, Amell said, “Wait, I should go with you in case they want to know more about what we’re asking you to do.” Amell stood up from where he sat on the edge of the bed and left the room with her. “This is a Warden matter after all.“


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by [WarriorMaggie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroMaggie/pseuds/HeroMaggie).

 

Anders had never expected to come back here. No matter how many times he prepared for being found, Anders had always assumed he’d manage to die before stepping foot in another Circle. Especially this one. There was no denying the sense of _deja vu_ as the boat slowly paddled towards the dock. The stone tower was a painful reminder of everything he had run from.

Anders intimately knew the path they would take from the dock up the small rise to the large doors. Through them stood the sparse atrium where the occasional guest waited for an escort, two Templars on duty at the front door, and two Templars on duty at the doors to the first level. Through the doors would be the hallway leading to the apprentice quarters, classrooms, a small library…the open area before the offices of the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander. The door that led further down into the basements, down into the dungeons, down where the light couldn’t reach.

Anders felt his breath catch. Justice surged forward, and Anders retreated back to the safety of his mind, to the quiet corner that no memory could breach. Here he was surrounded by Justice, buffered from the world. Here his conscious could slumber while Justice took over. If he went voluntarily, he could watch through his eyes - a spectator that couldn’t be touched by anything. If Justice took over, the shock rendered him unconscious.

Justice turned their head, their gaze landing on Fenris. Fenris gasped in air, pain evident in every movement and sound. Anders prodded at Justice to touch him, but Justice pushed back. They were too close to the tower to remove their gauntlets. They already risked a TEmplars feeling the Fade pouring from them, they didn’t need them to see the glow of power as well.

The boat bumped lightly against the wood of the dock. Amell leapt from the craft lightly and stood with his arms crossed and his face set, a firm stare centered on the Templars who stood in welcome. “We’re here to see Dagna.”

“This way, Commander. Your men can wait in one of the rooms. Are there any mages with you?” A helmeted TEmplars had stepped forward to speak.

“If there are, they are none of your concern, Templar. Take me to see the First Enchanter.” Amell strode ahead with the TEmplars.

“Do not growl so, Anders,” Zevran whispered. “We will be fine.”

“ _This place is an injustice_ ,” Justice hissed.

“You can stay here,” Fenris said around a pained cough. “I would rather…”

“ _No. You misunderstand us. Anders is afraid, but willing. Do not turn away such a gift._ ” Justice stepped from the boat and held his hand to Fenris. “ _Come. We must not linger here. The Circle has many eyes that watch._ ”

“So this is where the Shem lock up their mages?” Velanna’s voice dripped disdain.

“They lock up all mages here,” Nathaniel cautioned. “Not just human. So don’t poke at them.” Velanna simply sneered and turned away, though not before Anders saw her hands shake. “We should take Anders’ advice and get inside.”

The group turned towards the path into the tower. When it was apparent that Fenris couldn’t handle the walk, Nathaniel picked him up and carried him. Anders fretted and pressed against Justice, fought to take control so that he could talk to Fenris, touch him, comfort him. Justice held him back - the force surprisingly gentle. Anders subsided and allowed Justice control, if for the moment. Instead, he turned his focus towards the tower and helping Justice maintain control on his powers.

* * *

 

The room they had been led to was one of the guest rooms on the first floor. Anders remembered passing it on his way to Irving’s office - usually because he was in trouble. The furnishings were sparse, though the bed and chairs were comfortable. The stone walls radiated cold and damp despite the tapestries. Fenris huddled under the blankets on the bed, shivers wracking his body. Velanna gave up watching him shake and went to the small stove and with a stubborn sniff, lit the fire with magic.

The Templar that stepped in was greeted with Zevran’s toothy smile and Nathaniel standing in front of Velanna. “I felt a magical discharge.” The Templar had turned to face Velanna. “Unsanctioned.”

“We’re here because our friend is dying. This room is freezing. You left no way to light the fire,” Nathaniel said, his voice patient and calm.

“No unsanctioned use of magic is allowed,” The Templar stressed.

“So you’ll let him die rather than allow me to light a fire? Typical Shem attitude,” Velanna hissed.

“She’s a Warden under the protection of Warden Commander Amell. If you have a problem with her actions, take it up with him,” Nathaniel said, his veneer of calm eroding.

“Watch yourselves,” The Templar growled before stomping back out.

“Can we not do that? Please?” Anders begged. “I really don’t want to spend more time in their dungeon.”

Velanna scoffed but nodded. “Stupid Shem.”

“Velanna.”

“No, she’s right. This place is a pit. And I should know. Amell took me to many pits,” Zevran said with a smirk.

Amell walked through the door. They all perked up at his arrival. “How did your talk go with the First Enchanter?” Velanna sneered.

Amell shook his head and shrugged. “It went as well as it could have. I don’t think Greagoir has forgiven me for Finn. Not that I can blame Finn for not coming back to the Circle.”

“What fool would willingly return here?” Velanna waved her hand in disgust. She made a harumph noise at Nathaniel and stalked over to a chair near the dresser. She threw herself onto the chair and scowled at the room.

Amell ignored Velanna and instead turned to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll live,” Fenris rasped. Anders crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. He was deeply worried that Fenris wouldn’t keep living. Not if something couldn’t be done.

He opened his mouth to respond and was interrupted by the door opening and an energetic dwarf rushing in. A wide smile was beamed at the group while papers fluttered to the floor around her. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but I wanted to make sure I had all the reference materials at hand. So, tell me just how extensive this lyrium problem of yours is. Your letter was a bit vague.”

Amell rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled weekly. “Yes well, Zevran’s been rubbing off on me. This is Fenris. Fenris, this is Dagna.”

“Oh! Hello.” Dagna dumped her books and papers on the dresser and approached the bed. She slowed as she got a proper look at Fenris’ face. “Oh.”

“Hello,” Fenris said while struggling to sit up. The blanket slid down his chest and his markings were uncovered. They flickered fitfully as he moved. The skin around them appeared grey, nearly greenish. Sweat sheened his skin despite the shivers.

“That’s…not what I was expecting. I think you’ll need to tell me more.” Dagna hopped up onto the bed. “From the beginning please.”

Fenris cleared his throat. Anders reached for him, hesitated, and then helped prop him up. With Justice riding just under his skin, Anders didn’t feel the familiar pull from Fenris’ markings. Emboldened, he settled next to Fenris on the bed, and allowed him to rest against his armor. Dagna said nothing as they settled, just waited.

“It started in Tevinter. I won a gladiatorial contest and a boon from the Magister Danarius. I became his champion, and he embedded the lyrium under my skin.”

“He…put the lyrium under your skin? And you’ve been living with it?” Dagna touched one of his hands, tracing the lyrium lines.

“Yes. They give me additional power - strength, stamina, the ability to phase through solid materials…”

Dagna nodded. “They pull you partially into the Fade. That’s amazing. Dangerous, ludicrous, unethical…but amazing.” Dagna frowned and turned his hand over to examine the lyrium on his palm. “This isn’t anything I expected when you said you had a lyrium problem, Commander. I’m surprised you managed to live so long with it. I mean, we dwarves can suffer lyrium poisoning if it gets in our blood. This Danarius must have done something to keep it from…”

“Dagna, we don’t want to resort to blood magic. Nor do we have the time,” Amell interrupted.

She traced over the line of lyrium again. “Well, I guess we could try to remove the lyrium. I don’t know what the repercussions would be. Blood loss, certainly. Possible lyrium infection, most definitely.”

Fenris perked up at the idea. “You could remove them?”

“It would be painfully slow. We’d need a skilled healer; one who could heal as I pulled the lyrium from your body. The trick would be to close the skin as fast as possible to keep the lyrium from further poisoning you.”

Anders shuddered at the thought of what Fenris would have to go through, but he had to admit the idea had merit. “Fenris, it’s your choice. No matter what happens, I will be with you. I’ll help you get through this.”

“Do it,” Fenris said.

“Alright. I need to talk to Irving and Greagoir. We’ll need a room to work in, tools to remove the lyrium, and a healer,” Dagna said, her face growing serious. “The tools should be here. A room won’t be hard to find. It’ll just be getting a well-trained healer who will help me. That’ll be the rub. You just stay here and rest. I’ll go handle this.”

“I’ll come with you. Perhaps I can help move things along,” Amell said as he stood. “This is a Warden matter after all.”

Anders watched as Amell and Dagna left. Justice whispered to him, the spirit’s thoughts mirroring his own. Fenris had slumped back on the bed, his eyes closed and skin pale. How much longer did he have? Were there any healers even left in the Circle?

“Can I have a minute with him?” Anders looked at Nathaniel, Zevran, and Velanna.

“Anders, you know…”

“Let him be, Nathaniel. He deserves a moment with Fenris. Especially as I think I know why.” Zevran’s face was uncharacteristically solemn. “Come, let us see about badgering these fine Templars for a meal.”

“Velanna, stay with us; you hear me?”

“Ugh. Fine. Whatever,” Velanna groused as she stood. She stared at Anders for a moment before nodding. She stepped in between Nathaniel and Zevran before they exited the room.

Anders waited for the door to close before removing the helmet. He inhaled and exhaled, enjoying the cool air on his skin. He put the helmet on the nightstand and stood over Fenris. “Fenris…”

Fenris opened his eyes and gazed up at Anders. Anders watched as sadness, pain, and longing flitted through his gaze. “You should not have your helmet off.”

“I’m going to heal you,” Anders said softly. “I promise you, you will not die here.”

“What do you mean? Make sense, mage.”

“Dagna needs a spirit healer. She needs somebody who can heal as she removes the lyrium. All of the lyrium. There is no other mage in this tower with the experience I have. Or the power.”

“Anders…what you are saying…this could…no.” Fenris struggled to sit up. “No.”

“It’s my choice, just as removing the lyrium is your choice. Coming with you, helping you, has always been my choice. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think you worthy of it, worthy of the sacrifice.”

“And what of Justice?” Fenris’ words were near begging. “He could not wish this for you.”

“We are in agreement. Our cause is Just, but saving you is also Just. A chance to prove that a mage’s powers can be used for good,” Anders said. He sat on the bed and took Fenris’ hand. Justice’s power surged through him, and Fenris’ markings lit. “I want to do this. Not because you’re an obligation. Not for Hawke. But for you, Fenris.”

“Why?” Fenris clung to Anders’ hand. “I am not worth this sacrifice.”

Anders smiled and leaned forward, he stared into Fenris’ eyes as he slowly, gently, brushed their lips together. Fenris gasped at the touch, his markings flaring even brighter. Their breath mingled. Anders’ smile widened a fraction. He shifted to pull away, and Fenris lunged forward and buried his hands in Anders’ hair, tugged him close, and into another kiss - this one desperate and sloppy. Anders leaned into it, wrapped an arm around Fenris’ back, and hauled him close and into a hug. Justice’s power hummed between them, a layer of the Fade that buffered the constant pull of Fenris’ markings and protected Anders’ magic.

Gradually, Anders pulled back. He pressed his forehead to Fenris’ and exhaled a shaky breath. “Fenris. I need to go tell Amell I’ll do this.”

“Please…Anders…” Fenris shook his head. “You do not have to.”

“I want to. Promise me that you’ll take this chance at life and run with it.”

“I promise you will not be left here. I promise, Anders.” Fenris allowed himself to be lowered to the bed.

Anders stood and picked up the helmet, slipping it back on. “You aren’t going to die here, Fenris. Not when I can help you.” He turned and walked from the room.

He ignored the call from the Templar standing outside their door. Instead he turned and made his way down the hallway to Irving’s office. The door was the same, the same little scratches around the handle, the same off-colored bricks on the wall. He didn’t knock, just pushed the door open and stepped in.

“I could send away for a healer. You know you took my last good one with you,” Irving was griping.

“He won’t last that long. Surely you must have somebody here that is strong enough to do this,” Amell said tersely.

“The abominations cost us many good healers,” Irving said.

“We have no Spirit Healers in residence now,” Greagoir added. “Perhaps several of our other healers working in tandem?”

“Or, I could do it,” Anders said.

Irving and Greagoir looked up at him. Greagoir took a step forward. “That voice,” he said. “I know that voice.”

“First Enchanter Irving, Knight Commander Greagoir, I’d be lying if I said it was good to see you,” Anders said as he pulled off his helmet. He ignored Amell’s frown and focused on Irving. “I’m going to heal as Dagna removes the lyrium. He’s my responsibility, my charge. You have no other healers as well-trained or as powerful as I am.”

“Anders,” Greagoir growled. “I ought to…”

“He’s a Warden, Knight Commander, and as such does not answer to you. He answers to me and me alone. You will remember that.”

“And you will remember where you are and what you are asking. You come into my Circle with this…this…” Anders lifted his chin as Greagoir stumbled over his words.

“Now Greagoir, Anders has obviously found his place in life finally. He’s serving with the Wardens and is now their responsibility. I think this is an excellent idea.”

“You always were too soft on him.”

“We don’t have time for this. Fenris is dying. Commander…” Anders turned his gaze to Amell.

Amell pursed his lips and then sighed. “Dammit Anders, fine. Fine. But you stay with me. Do you understand me? You will heal him, and then you and Zevran will leave.”

“But…”

“No. You will assist Dagna and then you will go back to the Vigil. I will not have you lingering here while Fenris recovers. I don’t trust what might happen. Maker dammit and you. Prepare the room, get Dagna together, he stays with me.” Amell grasped Anders arm tightly and tugged him from the room.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you will not throw your life away on my watch. Do you understand me?”

“Commander…Amell…”

“There are healers here who can monitor him as he recovers. When the procedure is done, you will return to the Vigil with Zevran and Velanna. I will stay here with Nathaniel.”

“And when he’s able to leave?” Anders stumbled after Amell.

“Then he decides where he goes. Look, Anders. Trust me. Please? For once in your life, trust me.”

Anders looked into his Commander’s eyes and nodded. “Alright. Just…alright.”

Amell shook his head. “Well, this has made our visit much more enjoyable. Come on, let’s get this going. The sooner that lyrium is removed, the sooner Fenris can start healing and you can stop moping.” Amell released Anders and gestured for him to follow. “Lovesick fool.”

“Takes one to know one,” Anders sniped. He struggled to hide his hopeful smile. Fenris would be healed, he would live, and he would be safe. And Anders would happily serve his time with the Wardens if it meant Fenris got this chance at life.

**Author's Note:**

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